#i have an illness and woke up at like 5am last night convinced i was dying and panicked about it for a bit

[gggoode]

✨ i WILL update iynaf this week ✨

[gayhuckleberryinatrenchcoat]

Just a stupid human tradition

Part 1 of my Destiel wedding series.

Click here for the masterpost.

Dean finally talks about his feelings and asks Cas to marry him.

@bonchickabelle thank you for inspiring me and encouraging me to post my writing, I hope you enjoy it🤗💛

He’s never really said it. It just didn’t feel right. It wasn’t that he hadn’t come to terms with his feelings, he knew now for nearly a decade how he felt about Cas. It also wasn’t fear of what John – he didn’t refer to him as his father anymore – would think, or rather do, if he knew. Dean couldn’t care less about his father’s opinions these days. He was happy about who he was. He was out and proud to a point were Sam got annoyed by the amount of gay jokes Dean made. (Charly reassured him that Dean would eventually “grow out of it”, that it was completely normal to obsess about his newly embraced identity after having suppressed this part of himself for so long, but Sam wasn’t so sure about that.) So yeah, it wasn’t like anything held Dean back anymore from saying those three words to Cas. He just ... didn’t.

When he got Cas back from the empty, he immediately hugged him like his life depended on it, not entirely sure that this wasn’t just a cruel dream. When Cas hesitantly whispered his name, he interrupted him with a sigh. His right hand grasping Cas’ hair, he buried his face in the bow of his neck and grumbled “You can have me. Of course you can. Always did”. He squeezed him once more before he pulled back and was met with the same expression of pure adoration that he saw last right before the empty ripped Cas away from him. He loosened his grip in Cas’ hair and let his hand slide down to cup the angel’s face instead. Cas understood Dean’s longing glance at his lips and bridged the gap between them, letting his lips touch Dean’s ever so softly. Dean felt himself melting into their kiss, first hesitantly, then more firmly, his lips parting to taste Cas’ tongue against his own. When they stopped to catch their breath, foreheads resting against each other, Dean mumbled in a raspy voice “Never do this again, okay dude? Never leave me again.” The moment was perfect. He didn’t need to say anything more and he wouldn’t even have had the time. After the two were forced to sit through a quick obligatory welcome-back-to-life-round with the others, Dean pulled Cas into his room where the angel showed him happily what the pizza man had taught him.

He never had to say it. It was obvious how he felt for Cas when he introduced the angel as his devastatingly handsome boyfriend and bragged about him whenever he got the chance, when he woke Cas every morning with soft kisses and called him sunshine, when he somehow always gravitated towards Cas, some part of him always brushing against his partner, as if to make sure he was really there. After Cas had gifted Dean his grace in a little vial so that they would be able to grow old with each other, Dean even fed Cas with the pie he had made for himself that morning because “now that you can taste food again, I’ll be damned to waste another day without you trying some goddamn homemade pie”. Dean’s feelings were obvious whenever Cas woke up at night and Dean, although sound asleep, pulled him a little closer as if he wanted to tell him that he was safe. It was crystal clear how Dean felt about Cas because he was so openly, blatantly in love with him, it was impossible to ignore.

So yeah, Dean never had to say the big three words, because Cas knew. And Dean knew that Cas knew. It’s not like he didn’t want to say those three words. But after Cas’ speech, he felt like the bar for a romantic speech was pretty high and he wasn’t exactly good in talking about his feelings. He was sure that he couldn’t possibly express in words how he felt for Cas. How could he fit feelings this big in just three words? It wouldn’t do their love justice. He felt clumsy, like him coming out with these words for the first time would just make him sound like a sappy teenager from some crappy high school romance movie. Like they would sound silly, inaccurate. When Cas confessed his feelings, it was the most wonderful thing Dean had ever heard. Back then, he was frozen in utter disbelief that an angel could feel love this way and that THIS angel, the most precious soul in existence, could feel this way for HIM, Dean fucking Winchester. Sometimes he wished he had a recording of Cas’ speech, because even though he remembered every damn word, he’d do anything to see this moment, the moment that changed his life forever, unravel again.

Dean always beamed with happiness whenever Cas spoke those three words. Ever since he got back, he’s been constantly saying them. He said them when he woke up to Dean’s kisses, when they went to bed, when they finished up some chores, when Dean made him wear a cowboy hat to watch old westerns and when Dean made him smile with a silly joke Cas didn’t really understand. He must have repeated those words a million times, but somehow, they never lost their meaning. Cas always stated them like a fact, so sincerely and honestly, like he was stating a universal truth. And although Dean never failed to reply to Cas’ declarations of love with a kiss, a loving smile or a simple “and I you, Cas”, it wasn’t the same as actually telling Cas himself that he loved him. And Cas deserved to hear it.

Lying awake yet again, Dean ruminated about this topic yet once more. He felt so incredibly lucky, the love of his life sprawled over him, breathing quietly, Dean’s hands running through his hair and over his back. He never thought he could have this and he had been okay with it. Just having Cas in his life was enough for him. But now that he had everything he could have ever possibly wished for – living a peaceful life in the bunker with Sam, Eileen and of course Jack, who visited them whenever he could, real freedom to do whatever he wants for the first time in his life and, most importantly, the love of his life sleeping in his arms – he would be stupid to take any of this for granted. To take Cas for granted. To not show him the love and appreciation he deserved. To not tell him. A smile found its way onto his face as he checked the clock. He had been awake since 2am. Now it was almost 5am. He gently brushed over Cas’ cheek. “Cas? Wake up sunshine” Cas grumbled, clueless why Dean would wake him at such an ungodly hour, but he felt that Dean was up to something. After some very convincing wake up kisses he agreed to get up and let Dean lead him to baby. After a short drive, Dean parked at a nice viewpoint.

“Do you mind telling me why you dragged me out of bed this early?” Cas muttered, shivering in the cold morning air. Dean sat down next to him on the hood of the Impala and wrapped a blanket around his grumpy boyfriend. Dean scrambled to find the right words. “Fuck it”, he whispered almost inaudibly. Cas tilted his head in question. “You know I’m not good at this, expressing my feelings and everything...” He lifted his head to meet Cas’ eyes. “I love you Cas. And I need you to know that”. A nervous smile flickered across Cas’ face. “I love you too, Dean...” he cleared his throat “...But... I know how you feel for me. So why did we drive here in the middle of the night? Is something wrong with you? Are you ill?” His eyes scanned Dean, as if he was looking for a sign what was wrong. Dean let out a nervous laugh. “No man, look, I just... Damn it, I can’t even do this right”. He ran a hand over his face before looking at Cas again. “See, I never told you that I love you, but you deserve to hear it, even if you know it anyways.” Encouraged by Cas’ fond smile he took his hand. “And... umm... so this is just a stupid human tradition, but with you being human now maybe you’d like to... umm, so...” Dean bit his lip and exhaled sharply. “Do you want to marry me, Cas?” Without hesitation, Cas broke into a smile and nodded. “Yes, I would very much like to do that”. As the sun started to rise in the background, Cas cupped Deans face and admired him for a moment, then Dean leaned in and kissed his fiancé deeply. In between kisses, he murmured against Cas’ lips “I love you, I love you so freakin’ much.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

From Eden: Two

Warnings: noncon sexual acts, mentions of mental illness; tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The mc suffers from agoraphobia. After a new neighbour moves in across the street, her home becomes even more of a prison.

Note: Yo, so here’s part 2! I hope you all enjoy. As before, there is a transcript at the end for anyone having issues with the images.

Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!

As always, if you are so inclined, please like, reblog, and comment. <3

Transcript:

Sunday

I called Dr. Tisha this morning. I told her about the neighbour. She said it was nice of him to help with the garden but ignored me when I mentioned the broken gate. I don’t know if she believed me. It didn’t seem like it. 

She’s coming by tomorrow to check on my progress. That means I can’t keep those magazines on the dining table anymore. The last time she made me throw half of them out. She didn’t listen when I told her some were so old they were priceless. Sometimes it feels like she doesn’t listen to me at all. Well, what do I pay her to do then?

I haven’t been back outside. I should water the garden as it’s only getting hotter but I don’t appreciate the unwanted audience. An intruder!

Later

I still haven’t found the courage to venture out. I made sure the bike lock was still in place from the front door. It is. Though, if that man’s metal hand could break the old lock, it will likely shred the chain lock. 

Thinking about it makes my heart race. I should go lay down. I’m dizzy and the humidity is making me sick to my stomach. Or maybe it’s something else.

Monday

Dr. Tisha came by early today.

I showed Dr. Tisha where I kept my medicine in the bathroom cabinet, the pills divided into the days. I check off each day on the calendar so I don’t forget either. She said that was good. The last time she was here, it was because I’d stopped taking the pills so I hope this made her happy.

Then she walked through the house, she said she was happy to see the top of the table this time. I laughed but it wasn’t really funny. Then she went to the kitchen and checked all the drawers. 

She found some books hidden under the sink and asked if I’d ever read them. I mean to but haven’t yet. She took them to the guest room where she found the bins of books stacked in the corner. Better than last time when they were a pile on the carpet. 

She said I have too many things. Too many things that aren’t mine. She says it’s okay to be sad about grandma but that holding onto all her stuff won’t bring her back. Like I don’t know that! I do know! But she left me these things so yes, they are mine.

Then we went to grandma’s old room. It’s the same as it was. As it’s always been. Dr. Tisha frowned and went to my room next. 

She asked me about the broken bed frame. I told her it was nothing. I made sure to replace the duvet I’d dragged out the couch to sleep without threat of rolling onto the floor in my sleep. Not that I sleep very much.

She opened my closet and found the magazines. That didn’t impress her either.

We had tea in the kitchen and talked. She asked me how I was feeling. About side effects and all that. Besides the occasional bout of nausea and vivid dreams, I’m fine. She agrees.

Then she asked about the tall shelf of vinyls in the living room. Which one is my favourite? I told her the old Vera Lynn record reminded me of grandma and it was still on the needle.

Then we argued. She wants me to get rid of the ones I don’t listen to. And the magazines in my closet! And she wants me to go through all the books, too. 

She also suggested that I think about redecorating. I told her I didn’t want to do any of that. I like the house the way it is. Who is it hurting if I have a few extra books laying around?

She calmed me down after I raised my voice. She made me count my breaths and explained that I don’t have to get rid of everything, just a little. She says it would help with my progress. And, she said, I could probably make a healthy profit off a yard sale. 

Well, I don’t care about the money, I don’t want to have a sale. I don’t want to deal with people and them thumbing through grandma’s thing for pennies. 

Dr. Tisha said she’ll make some signs and we’ll have the sale on Saturday. My task for the week is to decide what to sell and prices. We argued again but not very long.

When she left, I started crying. Everywhere I look, I see grandma and this place is empty enough without her.

Tuesday

Lorena showed up today.

I gave her my list, it wasn’t very long. She asked about the bike lock and I asked if she could stop by the hardware store and get a new mechanism. She asked me if I even knew how to fix it. I said I’d figure it out.

I told her about Dr. Tisha’s idea for the yard sale. She said it was a great idea. I still don’t agree but she offered to help me sort through the guest room. I shrugged and asked her how long she’d be at the store. She said the usual and left.

I waited by the door. I watched the front gate for her return. She had the combination to the bike lock now and could let herself in. I just wanted her to come back and drop everything off so I could be alone.

When she did return, she wasn’t alone. I saw her at the gate, fumbling with the lock. As the gate shifted open, a metal arm reached past her to push it all the way. The man held a paper bag in his other arm as Lorena carried the other.

He was smiling as he spoke to her and let her pass. He followed her to the door and he saw me before I could back away from the slated window in the door.

“Open up,” Lorena called as she tapped the door. 

I didn’t know what else to do but open the door. When I did she handed me her bag and reached for the one the man held.

“Sorry, but… I can’t let you inside.” She said glumly. “But thanks for the help.”

“No problem.” He glanced past her and I tried to hide behind her but he’s taller than her. He’s very big up close. “You have a great day. Both of you.”

“You, too.” Lorena said and he strode away.

When the gate clattered closed I waited until I was sure he was gone. I dropped my bag and rushed to check the lock. He’d secured it. Good.

I went back to the house and locked the door too. Lorena already had both bags on the table.

“He didn’t mean any harm,” She said as she unpacked the groceries. “He was just helping me so I figured--”

“You shouldn’t have let him in.” I told her.

“He was only in the yard. He didn’t come into the house.”

“I could have helped you.” I said.

“When’s the last time you went past the gate?” She asked as she pulled out a small plastic bag and slid it across to me. It was the new lock. “That should fit, if you can figure it out.”

“That’s not the point, Lor,” You slapped the table. “You let him into my space. A stranger!”

“He’s your neighbour. I’ve talked to Dr. Tisha and you know you’re supposed to be working on your socialising. This yard sale will be a good first step.”

“This yard sale is bull shit,” I was so angry I could have yelled. “I like being alone. I like it here. This is my home and these are my things!”

“Calm down.” She set down the carton of milk and neared me. “Look, I’m sorry. You’re right. I should’ve asked before I let him past the gate.”

I felt so tired. Suddenly weak, like the air had been let out of me. I felt bad for being so mad with her after she went all the way to town for me. 

“I’m sorry I got upset.” 

She forgave me and I forgave her. She convinced me to fill one bin for the sale before the end of the day. She left shortly after. Her and Shelby are going to see a movie. I’m watching one too. An old black and white movie Grandma had on her shelf of cassettes. It’s interesting but the edges are fuzzy and the audio is muffled.

Oh, well, I’m tired. And I’ll be sleeping on the couch anyway.

Wednesday

I tried to fix the lock today. I haven’t been outside that long since last week. The garden needs to be watered.

I took out grandma���s old toolbox, the tools half-rusted but intact. I got what was left of the old lock off easily but the new one was more of a task to get in. I had to open the gate to get it in. The holes for the screw were off-kilter but I couldn’t turn the lock enough to get them to line up.

Then he showed up. That man. Bucky. The lock slipped out as he scared me and my screw driver hit my shoe. My toe still hurts.

“You need some help?” He asked.

I shook my head and tried to close the gate on him but he was already picking up the mechanism and screwdriver.

“I can do it.” I sound like a dying mouse. I reached for the lock but he didn’t even seem to notice. “Hold the door steady and I’ll just--”

“I can do it myself,” I said louder but he still didn’t seem to hear me. Or chose not to.

He reached around the gate and pulled it closer to him. I grabbed the bars and he slid the lock into place. His metal fingers shifted it and aligned the holes.

“Do you have the screws?” He asked.

I found the box on the bunch of rocks just beside the gate. I handed him each long screw and he easily twisted them into place.

“There ya go,” He gave the screwdriver back and smiled.

I closed the gate, as good as pushing him out of the yard. He let me but looked confused. I took the key from the box and slid it in the slot. I turned it and the click slowed my racing heart.

“I still don’t know your name,” He said.

I didn’t tell him and left him there. You think he’d get the clue.

Thursday

It’s not even 5am. I woke up in a sweat. The fan is dead and the house has grown stolid, even as the night air slips through the open window.

I thought I’d closed it more but it is wide open and the power is out. There is an eerie silence as the buzz of the fridge is entirely gone and the house is pitch black. 

I swear I saw something move in the window. Maybe a bird?

I tried to get back to sleep but it’s too hot. I guess I’ll just sit and wait for the sun to rise. It’s already starting to.

I want to go out in the garden today. I just hope that man doesn’t bother me again. I hope the lock is still in place.

Friday

Well, yesterday was fine. The power came back on at noon as I watered the garden and trimmed some overgrown plants. The freesias had grown despite my neglect. 

Today was just as boring. I read at the patio table for a while but then the phone started ringing. Dr. Tisha was checking in. She said she put the signs up yesterday and hoped the turn out would be good. She asked me how much I got done. I lied and said a lot.

Now I’m going to go sort through the guest room and toss a few records on top to get her off my back. I guess I’ll just have to hide under the table tomorrow.

Saturday

Everytime I think I’m doing better, it all goes so bad! 

Dr. Tisha and Lorena arrived early to set up the yard sale. They unfolded a table just inside the gate, leaving it wide open, and helped me arrange everything on top of it. I was nervous and tired. I didn’t sleep very much.

I waited nervously and the first customer showed up. Gladys, an old friend of Grandma’s. She bought an old pin cushion and the Miles Davis record. I should have kept that.

I watched mostly as Dr. Tisha and Lorena took the money and helped people, both familiar and not. 

Dr. Tisha made me introduce myself to them at least. I hated it but they were mostly friendly. A woman with two children, I think she said her name was Essie? She said she liked my shirt. That was nice.

But then he showed up! I ignored him at first as he played with the ornamental cowbell. He took that and a few records from the table. He didn’t even seem to notice Dr. Tisha or Lorena as he came to me.

I kept my head down as I lined up the thimbles beside the painted sewing box.

“How much for the records?” He asked. 

I didn’t say anything and went to the other end of the table. He followed and I turned back and went back to the other end again. He followed me. Again.

“Now,” Tisha stopped me. “What are you doing? He asked you a question.”

I looked up and blinked dumbly. “What? I didn’t-- I was--”

“Bucky,” Lorena greeted him as she neared. “Tisha, this is the neighbour who helped with the groceries the other day.”

“Oh, hello,” She held out her hand as she blocked me from getting away. “I’m Tisha.”

She introduced me then and told me like a child to say hello. I did, quietly.

“Are you… the one who gave her the flowers?” Tisha asked.

“I did.” He smiled. “But I guess she already has enough.”

“She’s shy,” Tisha lowered her voice. “She’s working on it. Now,” she turned to me, “how much do you want for the records… and bell?”

I didn’t know what to say. The man watched me and I felt as if I would melt.

“Come on.” Tisha poked me. “We talked about this, right? This is your sale.”

“Ten dollars each,” I doubled the price. “And twenty for the bell.”

“That’s a bit pricey,” Lorena said. I shrugged.

“Sounds fair to me,” The man took out his wallet as he leaned the record on the table beneath the bell and used his leg to keep it from falling. “I’ve never listened to these bands before and I’m trying to expand my library.”

He held out the money. Tisha had to elbow me to get me to take it. I snatched it from him and counted it. Another elbow as Lorena kept me from turning away.

“Thank you,” I said to him. 

“I hope you enjoy the records,” Tisha offered gently before she pulled me aside.

She took me closer to the house as Lorena watched the table. She lowered her voice. “What’s going on?” She asked.

“Nothing.” I lied.

“Nothing? Why were you so rude to him?”

“I don’t like him.”

“You don’t know him.” She insisted.

“I don’t want to.”

“Look, I know you’re uneasy around men, but he was nice. And he’s your neighbour. You’ll be seeing a lot of him so I think you should at least try to be friendly. And remember what I said about friends?”

“My only friend is dead.” 

I was so upset I ran inside. And now I’m locked in my room, waiting for them all to just go away.

[eyeslikefoxglove]

Episode 4 - Meng Yao has a crush & Foxglove likes to babble

Hello everybody, welcome to episode 4. I slept like a baby last night, but I have a migraine so I may sound a bit incoherent. (Post episode Foxglove here, I’m not incoherent in this, I’m just ranty)

Poor WWX. Funny story, during my first? Second? Year of Med School I fell aspleep on my biophysics notes during exam period, woke up at 9pm when my alarm for my meds started ringing, realised what I’d done and called my mum (who was on a 24h shift at the hospital) crying. In hindsight is hilarious because I had something like two weeks until the exam so I lost no more than a few hours but oh well.

Full disclosure here: I don’t like the Lan sect, LXC, LWJ and the Ducklings excluded I think they’re a bunch of hypocrites. You can’t call yourself righteous and boast about your almost 4000 rules and then shrug when people decide to commit genocide.

Also, 4000-ish rules? Fuck that noise, there’s a post floating around here where some amazing soul translated what they could see of the Wall of Rules and yeah, some of them are in the “don’t be an asshole, don’t hurt yourself or others” vein which, absolutely fair. But things like “dress properly” who are you to tell me what and how I cover my body with? “Don’t be promiscuous” wow thanks for the slut shaming my dudes. “Don’t smile foolishly/don’t smile too much”, “sit properly”, “don’t be too sad”, “don’t be too happy”. You’re telling me these are rules, not guidelines, not common sense stuff. RULES. You’re telling me people get punished for grinning or crying. Fuck off mate.

And we can’t forget the golden example of hypocrisy “Don’t talk to Wei Wuxian” so much for “don’t speak ill of others”.

Is my Western Girl showing? I’m sorry, I’m from Spain and I was raised by the guidelines “don’t be an asshole, don’t hurt yourself or others, don’t take anyone’s bullshit, live and let live, have courage and be kind, we will always love and support you” so some stuff in here is very very grating. I don’t have enough knowledge about the culture to discern if it is because of my modern sensibilities or because my culture is so different.

Oooooohhh I don’t like birds. I mean, I love crows, ravens and birds of prey to an unhealthy degree, but they keep their distance. The other day a pigeon flew into my building and decided that my (very dark) doorstep was the place to have a rest. I screamed like a banshee.

Hey, those two assholes at the back, get the fuck out of here.

LXC protective mode activated.

You will never convince me Meng Yao did not develop a monster crush right then and there.

Oh no. It’s this asshole.

Oh WangJi about to cut a bitch.

Drag him WWX.

MY’s protective mode activated.

And LXC is too done with this shit. Yep, NHS also thinks MY got a massive crush.

WQ aka Qishan Wen’s only braincell.

It’s the One Braincell Trio!

Notice me sempai! Omg JC’s faces.

This is where I dump all my canon-divergence AUs:

Meng Yao stays in Cloud Recesses. He and LXC keep gazing longingly into each other’s eyes.

NHS introduces him to the other two from the One Braincell Trio. WWX takes one look at him and goes “yep, you’re my friend now, I’m kneecapping anybody who fucks with you.” Because there’s no way he wouldn’t be sympathetic to MY after his own childhood (omg, both of them drunk, making terrible gallows’ humour jokes about living poor and mostly homeless while JC and NHS just listen horrified). JC goes into overprotective bro mode with MY. I mean, he still can’t emote for shit but he’s made very very sure that he will cut a bitch for MY and at least he knows MY has a brain, not like someone else he knows.

Shijie makes friends with MY because Shijie is a goddess and MY is so confused because how the hell does someone so kind exist? And she wants to be friends? And she doesn’t care at all about his past? What? MY.exe has stopped working.

Maybe JZX gets his head out of his ass and goes to talk to MY and warn him about what an asshole JGS is, because I refuse to think JZX doesn’t know it. Maybe MY hears him disparaging Shijie and decides that nope, the Jins can fuck right off every single one of them is a rude idiot; it’s ok with him because of his parentage (it’s not ok) but no one touches Shijie. The Yunmeng sibs is where it is at.

And that’s when he unleashes his full Slytherin powers on behalf of his new family. Because he does indeed have a fully functioning brain and shit is going to get really ugly really fast for all the people he loves if he doesn’t try and mitigate the damage somehow.

(A lot of mutual XiYao pinning is going on in the background because I live for the angst ok. LWJ fully approves of him as a brother-in-law tho)

A lot of terrible shit still happens because this is my AU and I want pain, but not only does JGS not have MY’s enormous brain on his side when he tries to seize power, he’s actively working against him (you can’t tell me MY wouldn’t get the kick of his life publicly bringing down and exposing his terrible father).

I’m sorry, back to the commentary.

This two idiots omg.

It’s WQ! Drag him WQ (gently)

I’m going to channel my ballet teacher here for a second: put your hair up! (You bunch of spider crabs, as she would call us)

I mean, JC’s hair is clearly in his face when he’s doing drills and, while the visual of all that dark hair whipping in the wind with the robes (another beef I have, they look like they’d catch on everything) is very dramatic I can assure you it’s fucking annoying. Plus it limits your visual field a lot. Again, I know jack about the culture and people can fly on swords here so why am I complaining about hair but let me live.

I used to have that much hair (then I got a pixie, now I’m growing it back out) and smacking yourself on the face with your own braid hurts.

Shijie knows what’s up with Jiang “I can only show anger” Cheng.

My one track mind when I saw the fish: Anisakis!

I think I would absolutely become a vegetarian if I got dropped in the past tbh. Not only is there no quality control of animal products (hello Trichinella), there’s also no way to do a proper cold storage (hello Salmonella). I’ve read and seen to many horror stories due to contaminated animal byproducts and, while vegetables pose their own risk (hello E. Coli) usually you only have to be thorough at washing and peeling to not have trouble.

5am wake up call without coffee. Fuck that noise.

Wei “I’m a petty gremlin” Wuxian.

I once called WWX a “mad scientist with ADHD” on an AO3 comment and I stand by that assessment.

Ok, but why the turtle caricature? It’s because turtles are “old and wise” like LQR? Is that the joke? Or are they laughing at WWX’s balls?

AW NO PAPERMAN.

“Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood? // Where, would you look if I asked you to get me a bezoar? // And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?” It’s pretty much the same energy. LQR is Ancient magic China’s version is Severus Snape down to the pettiness. He tries to catch WWX in a mistake, and when he can’t he dismisses his knowledge (look at Shijie’s face when he says WWX should not be proud to know what he does). He keeps pushing until WWX’s runs into a wall, then uses LWJ to “show him how it’s done” I mean, look how smug he looks and how uncomfortable everyone else is.

“Pity... clearly, fame isn't everything.”

(No, I don’t like LQR and I don’t like Severus Snape either; tragic past and sacrifices do not give you a pass to abuse children don’t @ me, I’m not interested in changing my mind)

And here is where all my “mad scientist with ADHD” hc stem from.

“No screaming in Cloud Recesses.” Screams LQR (yes, I’m 100% that bitch)

WEN NING IS HERE HI WN YOURE SO PRECIOUS.

But intercepting an arrow mid flight is some Geralt of Rivia Witcher bullshit right there.

Detective Wei strikes again.

The scenery is gorgeous my god.

Can we talk again about how this 16-year-old boy reacted to someone sneaking up on him by drawing his sword and attacking? That’s not fucking normal, that’s a common reflex in soldiers or people with PTSD.

(The Netflix translation has him calling LWJ “WangJi” and I die)

Thanks for reading!

[chiefnooniensingh]

I Won’t Hesitate (For You) Chapter 6

Chapter 6: I can’t breathe (until you’re resting here with me)

In this chapter: We get a peak at the night of the murder. In the present day, things kick into high gear and Alex faces a few of his own demons.

a/n: This is one of my absolute favourite chapters. I reread this so often after finishing it just because I love it so much. I hope you'll like it as much as me!

As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter, @ladymajavader and May (@merlinss) over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!

The title of last chapter was Linger by The Cranberries, guessed by hmd23! Congratulations!

Can anyone guess this week's title and performing artist?

Also on: ao3

other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5

20th of October, 1953, somewhere between 3am and 5am.

Alex eyes snapped open. His heart was beating faster than it should, and for a moment he didn’t understand why he’d woken up feeling startled. Then it came back to him.

He’d been sure he’d heard someone yell out. The sensation had permeated straight through his uneasy dreams and had startled him awake. He scrambled for his pocket watch. 4:31am. Why in the world would anyone yell out in the middle of the night?

Half-groggy, but on high alert, Alex stumbled out of bed, his bad leg protesting heavily to the sudden weight put on it. Limping heavily, he made his way to the door, opened it a crack and peaked out. The corridor was dark and empty, the long-since extinguished lamps swaying lightly with the train’s movements. The certainty that he’d heard someone in distress fading with every passing second, Alex looked up and down the carriage. He looked down the long end, just in time to see a small figure slip into cabin number 4.

Perhaps that was all he heard; someone visiting the bathroom.

Deciding that his traumatized brain made a case from something that wasn’t anything, Alex closed the door, crawled back in bed and soon went back to sleep.

Present day, 21st of October, 1935

“Alex! Come in!” Maria DeLuca had opened the cabin door at his knock and her worried frown quickly changed to a lovely smile as she realized who was at the door. “My mother is resting; it’s been a very tiring day.”

Alex stepped inside the cabin, and indeed saw Mrs DeLuca asleep in her bed. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Ms DeLuca,” Alex said in a soft voice, as he took a seat next to the window. Maria took the seat next to him. “But I have some questions that I need answered.”

“Of course,” Maria said with a kind smile, “ask away.”

“Do you and your mother have identification on you?”

“Naturally.” Maria rummaged underneath her mother’s bed for a while, and produced two sets of identification papers, which he handed to Alex.

Alex copied all of it down in his notebook. “Maria DeLuca, 22 years of age, resident of New Orleans. Occupation…singer?”

“Quite famous, too! I’ve even got a record deal coming up! People line up for blocks to hear me sing every Mardi Gras.”

Alex nodded, slightly impressed. He resolved to look up some of her music upon returning to America. “Your mother’s name…Margaret DeLuca, resident of New Orleans, retired.” Maria nodded as she took the papers from him.

“I’ve seen her looking varying degrees of ill. Is there something wrong with her?”

Maria’s smile vanished abruptly. “We…we don’t know. She’s starting to lose bits of memories. Some days she’s as sharp as she used to be, then the next she’s convinced Rosa Ortecho is standing next to her, having entire conversations with her.”

“Your mother knew Rosa Ortecho?”

Maria nodded, tears filling her eyes. “The poor girl. My mom was the Ortecho’s house maid until a few weeks before the kidnap. My dad had gotten very sick and we had to move closer to a hospital that could help him, you see. When my mother read of the case, weeks after her body had already been discovered, something broke in her. She was still my loving mom, and she took good care of me even after my father died, but there was always a kind of sadness surrounding her.”

Motive, Alex wrote down, but in his mind, he doubted it. Mimi DeLuca was barely strong enough to lift a hand of cards, let alone plunge a knife into a man’s chest. Still, it was pertinent information. “How is it that you came to be on this exact train, the same train that the murderer was on?”

Maria looked desperately upset. “I don’t know! I’ve been trying to figure it out myself. The only logical answer is some cruel twist of fate!”

“And you don’t think you or your mother…?”

Maria’s dark eyes suddenly flashed angrily, and Alex saw, for the first time, that he was better off not underestimating this woman. “Are you suggesting I or my mother had anything to do with this horrid business? Because my mother is sick enough as it is, and planning a murder is certainly not on the top of our priority list!”

“Of course. I’m sorry I asked.” Maria kept her eyes narrowed at him for a while, and Alex felt another possibility for friendship slip away from him. But he wasn’t here to make friends, he reminded himself. He had to solve a murder. Whatever it took. “Where were you around 3AM, miss DeLuca?”

“Asleep. My mother woke at around 4 to request a glass of water from the conductor. I woke up briefly because of the scuffle, then fell asleep again. We did not hear about the murder until we arrived at the scene after everyone was already awake. I did not commit this murder, Mr Manes,” Maria said fiercely, “and neither did my mother. Frankly, I’m insulted you find us capable.”

Alex rose to his feet, having gathered all he needed right now and cast Maria a sad look. “Ma’am, in my line of business, I’ve learned that everyone is capable with enough motivation.”

With that, he left.

En route back to his own cabin, with every intention of having a lie down for a while, to really mull this case over, he ran straight into Michael. “Hey, you okay?” Michael asked once more, looking concerned this time.

I swear, Alex thought privately, this man is going to give me a whiplash. “This case is giving me a headache,” he said, instead.

“Can I help?”

“That’s very kind of you, Michael, but I – ” He was cut off by a sudden loud squealing sound, a violent lurch as the train suddenly braked hard and another crash as it came to a sudden stop. Alex, already very unsteady on his feet, fell right into Michael when the train started to brake, and the force of the crash caused them both to tumble to the floor. The noise was deafening, and instinctively, Alex buried his face in Michael’s chest and covered his ears. It was excruciating to listen to the screaming of the breaks, the thudding of luggage falling over all up and down the train and then the frightened yells and screams of the passengers.

And suddenly he was on the battlefield again. The air smelled of gunpowder, blood and death and everywhere around him, his brothers were dying. Alex was barely 20 years old and not in any way, shape or form prepared for the violence that was an actual war. Clinging tightly to his weapon, he waited till he heard the enemy’s fire subside, then emerged out of the trench and fired at his faceless foe. The more people died around him, the more he realized how futile it was. How many men had laid down their lives for the simple fact that the US government wanted control over Nicaraguan waters? But it was too late to turn back now. If he stopped shooting, he would die. And he did not want to die. He came up from the trench once more but had miscalculated. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, his knee in tatters and every nerve aflame. Michael’s face floated in front of him as he screamed in agony. “Alex,” he said softly. Alex smiled and reached out. “Alex. Alex!”

“Alex!” he heard Michael yell, and he felt two warm hands grab his face and pull him up. Alex gasped for breath as if he had been drowning and the reality of today came back to him in an instant. He wasn’t at war. He was on the Orient Express, which had apparently just crashed, and he was in Michael’s arms once more. Though nothing romantic was about to happen, for Michael was looking at him in alarm, scanning his face for injuries. Alex automatically did the same. Other than being severely startled, having had a pretty serious flashback, and having developed an even worse twinge in his leg, Alex didn’t think he was injured. Michael looked shaken, but otherwise unhurt as well. “You okay, love?” Michael asked softly, running his thumbs down Alex’s cheeks. Alex nodded.

“What the hell was that?” he said, his voice extremely shaky.

“I think we crashed. Come on, let’s get you up.” Michael helped Alex to his feet slowly, and when Alex put weight on his leg, it hurt less than he had expected. Thank goodness.

People were coming out of their cabins, looking ruffled and wide-eyed and some of them spotting some minor bruises or a split lip. Everyone seemed unharmed otherwise.

Michael looked at Alex again. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Alex murmured, who still felt pretty shaken up, “I just…had a flashback.”

Michael’s eyes flashed with understanding, and without hesitation, he dropped the tiniest of kisses on Alex forehead. Just a brush of the lips, but Alex felt it and a warmth surged through him. “After this is over, we’re going to have to catch up,” Michael said with a half-smile. Alex nodded in agreement, not voicing his very real fear of having to put Michael in jail.

Jesse Manes came bursting in through the door, looking quite the worse for wear, his mouth bleeding profusely. It looked as if he had slammed his face into something as the train crashed. “Is everyone alright?” he asked to the crowd in general, and, not waiting for an answer, he continued, “I need Dr Vale!”

Kyle came hurrying forward with his med kit, looking harassed. Behind him, Ms Beth’s arm was in a bandage. Raising an eyebrow at Director Manes’ less than impressive visage, he opened his case and rummaged in it. “Hurry up, won’t you?” Director Manes snapped, obviously forgetting he was not in the army anymore.

“Dad!” Alex said loudly, as Kyle stopped what he was doing and looked up slowly.

“Excuse me?” Kyle said softly.

Jesse Manes stilled, only now realizing his mistake. “Oh, I am so terribly – ”

“Mr Manes, you might be the Compagnie director, but these people are your passengers, who have paid for your services and your hospitality. Now I understand this day has been stressful, but I will not permit anyone to speak to me in that tone. If I hear you speak to me or any of the people on this train in that way again, I can guarantee you will never find work this side of the pond again. Do I make myself clear?”

Alex’s mouth dropped open, and he felt Michael’s shoulders shaking with barely controlled laughter even as he was still supporting Alex. There was a very tense silence, in which Alex watched his father go through several emotions including ‘murderous’ before landing on forced remorse. “Of course, Dr Vale. I forgot myself, my apologies. It’s been stressful, as you said. If you would be so kind, would you mind helping me stem the bleeding?” He was still bleeding rather profusely, and with the public dressing down he’d just received, he made a very pathetic sight indeed.

“That was the best thing I have ever seen in my entire life,” said Alex in a low voice and Michael snorted.

“Karma is a bitch,” Michael muttered, causing Alex to cough out a laugh. He looked at Michael, those piercing brown eyes filled with mirth, and felt his heart skip a beat. The man was still holding him upright, even though Alex was sure his leg was able to support his weight.

Just like 10 years ago, Michael was there to catch him if he fell. It had taken them a shockingly small amount of time to fall back in sync with each other. Alex opened his mouth, unsure what he was going to say but wanting to talk, to touch, to really reconnect with Michael…but suddenly the outer door burst open and Beth screamed. Cold air blasted into the train, snowflakes bursting in from the cold and a large shadow exited the train into the snowy wild.

Without thinking, Alex took off.

“Alex, no!” he heard Michael yell from behind him, but Alex scarcely heard him. He was only vaguely aware of his leg protesting to this sudden sprint so soon after having taken the brunt of a very violent fall, but Alex had only one thought. Someone was running. The murderer was trying to escape.

It was freezing cold outside. Alex spared a glance to the front of the train, and his heart sank. They’d been about to pass through the Simplon Pass, but an avalanche had blocked the entrance; the Orient Express had rammed straight into the thickly packed snow.

They were stuck.

Alex’s gaze snapped around to the back of the train, where the escapee was still running. They were clothed in a big coat, making it hard to make out who this was. Alex tore after them, just as Michael jumped out to keep everyone else in. “Alex, be careful!” he yelled.

Alex called upon all the speed he’d built up in the army and sped up. No matter why this person was running, Alex couldn’t let them get away. “Stop!” he yelled, but it was useless. The wind was whistling around them both, and he only barely heard himself.

His knee protesting violently, Alex gave it everything he had and saw the distance between him and the escapee closing. The snowy landscape was hard to traverse, and they could barely see five feet in front of them, but Alex noticed the distinct change in landscape a few feet to the right; a ravine. And the other person was drawing very close to edge, Alex could already see snow beginning to crumble underneath their feet. “Careful!” he yelled. The other heard him, looked around, and lost their footing. “NO!” Without hesitation, Alex leaped for the person and pushed him away from the edge. The man – for Alex’d seen the glimpse of a beard – fell backwards, safely away from the edge, but Alex was less lucky. The snow was slipping underneath him, carrying him ever so slowly towards the edge. Oh, for the love of… He felt one foot already passing over the edge, and panic leapt into his throat. I don’t want to die, Alex thought frantically, as Michael’s face flashed before him, and he tried to scramble back up the slight slope.

“Mr Manes!” he heard, and the man jumped forward, trying to catch his hand. Their fingers touched, slipped and Alex began to slide in earnest.

“NO!” Alex was surprised that the yell hadn’t come from his own throat, but behind the man appeared Michael, like a god damn angel send from heaven. “Alex!” Michael lunged and grabbed Alex’s hand, just as Alex tipped over the edge. They both yelled in fear, but Alex felt a yank on his arm. Michael had gotten hold of him and had stayed his death a little longer. Not that it helped. Alex felt himself slowly falling again, and he saw the snow underneath Michael shifting again. Michael was slipping as well.

I’m gonna die, Alex realized. And he was taking Michael with him.

“Let go, Michael!” he yelled in a panic.

“No!” Michael looked panicked himself, but his grip remained firm as he tried to find footing. “And don’t you dare let go, Alexander Manes!” Then he directed himself to the guy behind him. “Grab my god damn legs!” he bellowed.

Alex couldn’t see what was happening. He stared up in Michael’s eyes, sure that if he was going to die, those were the last thing he ever wanted to see. “Michael,” he said softly, as he felt no change in his slow descent, “Michael, please.”

“NO!” Michael yelled, his voice cracking. “I’m not letting you go again, Alex! I don’t look away!”

“Michael, please!” Alex said, tears threatening in the corner of his eyes. “Please, don’t do this!”

Michael’s eyes were blazing with fury. “If you go, I’m going with you!”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic, you two!” a third voice added, and Isobel Bracken-Evans’s face appeared over the edge. “We got you, we’re pulling you up!”

And miraculously, even as Alex hardly dared to believe it, they suddenly began to rise, Michael disappearing back over the edge, but never letting go of Alex’s hand. Alex’s free hand grabbed the edge when he could reach it and two pairs of hands appeared to grab hold of his arm.

Isobel and Kyle were there, pulling him up, while Mr Otto was pulling on Michael’s legs.

His heart pounding, Alex was pulled back on solid ground, away from the edge. When finally, finally, they were safely away, he collapsed, gasping with adrenaline, against Michael, who caught him and wrapped his arms tightly around him. “Don’t ever do that to me again,” Michael muttered against Alex’s temple.

Alex could only clutch to Michael’s jacket tightly, pressing his face in his chest as he tried to stave of the beginnings of a panic attack. All the horrible things that could’ve happened were flashing before his eyes. His own bloody, mangled body two hundred feet below on the snowy plains. Michael’s broken, lifeless body next to him.

“Michael, are you okay?” Alex barely registered Isobel’s soft voice as he inhaled Michael’s scent in an attempt to calm himself.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Other footsteps. Several shocked voices as they took in the scene before them. Alex aware that he and Michael were being far too affectionate around a far too unfamiliar crowd. But he didn’t have the strength to push away and stand up. He’d been at death’s doorstep. And he would’ve never gotten a chance to tell Michael all he wanted to – to make up, to apologize. Ten years, wasted, because they’d been so scared and cowardly.

“Michael.”

“I got you, private,” Michael whispers softly, his hands stroking Alex’s back. “You’re safe, you’re alive, I got you.”

“You really wouldn’t have let me go?” Alex finally gasped out, looking up at him. The world was slowly coming back into focus, and Michael was at its centre.

Michael smiled and the last bit of panic faded from Alex’s system. “I never look away, Alex. I told you before. I just found you again. I’ll never let you go again. And if that means following you over the edge of a damn cliff, so be it.”

“Jesus, Michael.”

“What the hell happened?!” Another voice joined the murmurs and Alex and Michael both looked up, the spell between them broken. The world was freezing again and he was alive and there was still a murderer in their midst and his father just appeared, looking disgustedly down at Alex and Michael. Alex could only imagine that he looked like his father’s worst nightmare; broken, teary-eyed, in the arms of another man. If only Alex could bring himself to give a fuck.

“Alex almost went over the edge,” Isobel said, stepping in front of Michael and Alex with her hands on her hips. “Michael saved him. They’re catching their breath.”

Jesse Manes blinked in surprise. “Did they at least catch the person who ran?”

The silence became rather frosty, a very impressive feat seeing as it was snowing. “Yes,” another voice said, “they did.” Everyone turned around. Arthur Otto stood next to his daughter, who was holding his arm and looking extremely stern. “Why did you run, papi?”

Jesse Manes didn’t wait for an answer. “Only a guilty man runs! I always knew to never trust your kind and I was right! I’m going to make sure you never see the sun again, you murderous spic!”

Alex was on his feet at once. The exhaustion, the pain in his knee, all but forgotten. “Shut up!” he yelled. Jesse became very still, a stance Alex still recognized as a first sign of trouble. “You are not in charge of this investigation, Mr Manes! I am, and you will not threaten anyone on this train while I am in charge, or you will be very sorry indeed!”

“How dare you speak to me in that tone?!” screamed Jesse Manes, getting into Alex’s face, any sense of where he was and who was surrounding him forgotten. Alex didn’t back down. “I am still your father, you ungrateful, arrogant piece of shit, and I will have respect!”

“Respect is earned, and you have done nothing in my entire life to earn it!” Alex yelled back.

“You have never done anything to warrant giving you respect!”

Dr Kyle stepped forward, looking extremely angry. “Your son is a decorated war hero!”

Jesse Manes didn’t even seem to hear him, he just raged on, with the air of a man who was finally letting out what he’d been holding back for years. “You didn’t even have the decency to be normal, you had to be a fucking faggot to boot! You are disappointing, disgusting, despicable – ”

It happened in a flash. Alex was pulling back his fist to plant it firmly in the face of the man who called himself his father, but Michael had beat him to the punch – literally. Alex hadn’t realized how strong Michael had become in the ten years since he last saw them, but Jesse Manes went down with a single blow. Alex was convinced he saw a tooth flying. “You can no longer speak to Alex that way, not as long as I have anything to say about it!”

Jesse Manes looked shocked at this turn of events. He was cradling his jaw and Alex was looking forward to seeing a bruise form there in the next few days. He looked up at Michael, his eyes flashing with the same hate he always reserved for Alex. “My, my, you’ve finally learned to throw a punch. Lucky for you I didn’t get your good hand last time, huh?” His eyes flicked down to Michael’s left hand and Alex saw it spasm violently.

“You’re a fucking child,” Michael spat, his voice dripping with disgust and hatred. “You think respect and control come from violence. Yet these people, the people Alex is investigating for murder, respect him more than they do you. You are nothing. You have always been nothing. The only difference was that you were stronger than either one of us. That has changed. Touch either one of us again, and you will be very sorry indeed.” He stepped forward, his fist raised, and Jesse Manes flinched violently.

“Michael!” Max Evans stepped forward, looking stricken. “Enough, man. He’s got the point, I think.”

To Alex’s surprise, Michael dropped his fist, his fingers unclenching, a sharp breath exploding from him. Then he turned to Alex. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Alex said, then immediately felt his knee give out. “On second thought, not so much.” He buckled and Michael caught him effortlessly. “Alright, now that that’s dealt with,” Alex said, casting a disdainful look at his father, still bleeding on the ground. “Mr Otto, I would like an explanation, if you please.”

Mr Otto looked extremely white from all the excitements, and his daughter nudged him hard in the ribs to get his attention. “Oh! Ah. Yes. Of course.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Well, when the train crashed, I knew it was my only chance to get away…”

“Aha! See, escaping the scene of the crime…!” Jesse Manes began.

“I swear to God, one more word out of you…” Michael snapped, who did not finish his sentence, but Director Manes got the point. He lapsed into grudging silence.

“Yes, to get away. But not to flee the scene of this crime.” He looked at Alex intently. “I did not murder that man, Mr Manes. But I overheard your father talking to one of the other staff one day…said he could only suspect me, as I am the only person who could’ve done it; the DeLuca women and Beth being too weak, and Dr Kyle having taken an oath. I ran because I knew if it was up to Jesse Manes, I would be convicted on the word of a racist white man. And I’d rather live out here in the middle of nowhere than go to prison as a Latino man.”

Alex sent his father an absolutely hateful look, but his father seemed unremorseful in his racism. Alex could murder him. “Alright, everybody inside, to the dining carriage. It’s getting too cold out here. Dr Kyle, if you would escort Mr Otto.”

Everyone started towards the train, leaving Manes in the snow. Michael supported Alex all the way, and Alex was glad off it. His leg was aching worse than ever, and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to put his weight on it for a day or so. Michael carried him singlehandedly up the stairs and into the carriage, and they laughed about it for a moment, before continuing to the dining carriage, where it was, mercifully, warmer.

Beth was standing next to her father, her arms crossed, looking extremely cross with her father. “Alex!” she said, when she saw him, waving him over. He and Michael made their way to their table. “I want to apologize for my dad. He shouldn’t have run. He panicked, thinking Jesse Manes had maybe called in the cavalry to arrest him.” Next to her, her father nodded.

Alex sighed. “Look, I get it. My father is…yeah. But I have to consider all the facts…”

“Mr Manes, I swear my father couldn��t have done it. I was with him all night – ”

“Beth – ” Max Evans tried to step in, but Beth continued, without missing a beat.

“– after I came back from Max Evans’ – ” Alex registered Max relaxing slightly, “ – I was reading some medical journals for most of the night and checked on my father periodically because he has heart issues, and my father was asleep until we were awoken by Isobel, I swear!”

Alex glanced from her to Max for a second and saw their eyes jump to each other for a fraction of a second. Something was going on between the two of them, but Alex couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Beth’s story only barely held up under the lightest scrutiny. But even if she wasn’t telling the truth about seeing her father, at least her and Max’ story seemed to match up. And that covered her for the murder. His head was aching. He pinched the bridge of his nose and lights swam behind his eyelids. That couldn’t be good.

“Alex?” he heard Michael whisper.

“Mm,” Alex merely muttered. “Alright. Well, it seems that we are stuck here for a while. Nobody leaves this train without my supervision, is that clear?” Everybody nodded mutely. “Michael, can I have your master keys?”

“What, why?” Michael asked, looking startled.

“Because I’m the only one not a suspect in this case so I need those keys somewhere I can keep an eye on them, please, Michael.” He didn’t mean to sound desperate, but his vision was getting blurry, his head throbbing more and more by the second. He had to lie down, and soon.

“Alright,” Michael acquiesced, looking startled and handing over the keys. Alex limped towards the outer door, locked it, and put the keys in his pocket.

“Go to your cabins, everyone. I need to rest, and we’re not going anywhere for a while.”

People moved past him, murmuring and shooting him concerned glances. Michael stayed close to Alex, looking concerned. “Michael, can I speak to you for a moment?” Alex managed to say through gritted teeth. Without waiting for an answer, he limped towards his cabin and entered it, Michael following close behind.

“What is it – ?” Michael began, but it became very clear what. Alex nearly collapsed and it was all Michael could do but to catch him. “Wow! Alright, I got you, private, I got you.”

“Can you help me?” Alex asked, his voice weak and trembling. “I don’t – I don’t think I can – u-undress mys-self.”

“Of course, Alex. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

He helped Alex to his bed, set him down and started undoing the laces to his shoes. Alex slumped against the back wall, his eyes closed. Michael’s hands were gentle as he helped Alex out of his shoes, his socks, his pants and shirt. At any other time, the atmosphere between them would be charged, but Alex was near in a coma and Michael understood exactly what Alex needed. He helped him into his pyjamas. His soft touches lulled Alex into something resembling sleep and he felt warm and safe for the first time in a while.

“Alex,” he whispered, and Alex forced his eyes to open a fraction. “Lay down, love.”

With gentle pressure from Michael, Alex managed to swing his legs onto his bed and rest his head on his pillow. A very ungentlemanly groan passed his lips as his entire body began to ache into the mattress. Suddenly, Michael’s hands were on his bad leg, rubbing it softly, warming the aching muscles in his calf and knee. Alex hummed appreciatively and closed his eyes again. He slowly felt his body relaxing into Michael’s touches. His body was exhausted, the adrenaline from nearly dying finally wearing off and he was sure he was asleep. That is, until he felt Michael’s hands leave his leg and his lips against his forehead. “Sleep tight, Alex.”

Alex’s hand shot out, grabbing Michael’s arm as he made to leave. “Please don’t leave,” he muttered. His eyes opened slightly, looking up at Michael through his eyelashes. Michael’s face was soft, and a small smile played around his lips.

“Alright, Alex.” Michael shed most of his uniform, leaving him only in his boxers. Then he climbed into bed, settling himself behind Alex and slinging an arm over him. Alex’s eyes closed again, and he burrowed himself against Michael’s chest. Michael’s arm tightened around him, pressing a kiss to the back of Alex’s head. “Go to sleep, Alex. I’m here.”

Alex dropped to sleep faster than he ever had before.

[glutterandgallivant]

My First Trek..

During the first week of December 2018, I took a step that changed my life.

By reading different trek experiences, digging into different treks ran by different trekking communities, desiring for a tent stay to journeying in Himalayas is what I do to kill my time for few months back then. December is when I decided that I should do it, I should take my first Himalayan trek by March.

So my next decision was to figure out which trek it is. Is it Kedarkantha? Or is it Dayara Bughyal? Or is it Brahmatal?. Brahmatal was the last choice among the other treks I’ve listed out, but considering trekking in March Bramatal was the only good option among others. I started to read more about Brahmatal, and the more I read the more I started to fall in love with the place before I even visited it.

I started hitting the gym in the morning, managed two of my best friends to hop in with me and it further extended to another two(friend of friends) joining us. I was on cloud nine when I completed my first 5km jog in 35-36 mins with my friend who was constantly motivating beside me whenever I stopped to sip water or needed a break. From booking our flights to and fro Delhi followed by our train journey to Kathgodam, our stay in rishikesh everything was looked into and my excitement for the trek increased day by day. It was all “Yay!!!” moment for me. Whenever I feel low or don’t feel like going to gym, a picture or facts on whatever I read about Brahmatal flashes my mind and I instantly get back to the “Yay!! I’m going for a trek” moment.

There was only a week left for the trek when my friend started falling ill and we are yet to buy our trekking gear. Finally I decided to visit Decathlon store with two of my friends, Aarthy and Savitha. Aarthy came to help us pick the right gear(she went to Kedarkantha during December, had she informed earlier that would have been my first trek) and Savitha on the other hand is all clueless on what to buy as much as me. Then came my sick friend Vivek who was all sluggish af to buy his trekking gear. Finally each of us purchased and swiped Aarthy’s credit card with a smirk on our face. 

Meanwhile I received an e-mail from my trek co-ordinator that we won’t be reaching the summit stating the bad weather condition and instead replaced a day with our visit to Kukhina top.

The day before my trek, Vivek called to inform me that he wont be able to make it to the trek and asked me to cancel his part on behalf of him. I started to feel numb and all my mixed emotions started to gush from my toe to face. I started to remember the time when he made a surprise visit to my office and how I convinced him to join the trek, though he was reluctant to show his excitement I always knew he is looking forward to this whole trip. Well, I made up my mind or at least thought I did and proceeded to cancel all his bookings after re-confirming with him that night. 

So finally the day is here!! 

Day 1: Delhi - March 16th

We boarded the flight to Delhi after formally introducing ourselves and finally landed Delhi around 4:30-5 pm. Following that we boarded the Metro to reach the Chandni Chowk station, got down checked in our baggage in the cloak room and came back near Paranthe wali gali in Chandni Chowk. The minute I landed there I planned to binge eat whatever I find and I executed it :P Every food vendor in Delhi has some special history and unique taste which is hard to find elsewhere. From soaking in with paani poori to sweet tasting big fluffy rasagulla to stuffing myself with Paranthas and tanking myself with Lassi I ate whatever I could find and did a little bit of cloth shopping in between. 

Then we marched towards the end of the street to witness the awestruck beauty of the historic fort - The Red Fort. We stood there clicking few selfies in front of it whilst a random trespasser asked us if we are from Andra/Telegana. We hesitated to reply him as we sensed some negativity going around and out of thin air he started to curse the current ruling party when a Police Officer came to check on the situation of him disturbing us. We vanished from the place in a blink of an eye when he pointed that we belong to his hometown as well. Wait. What?

Delhi - Kathgodam -> Ranikhet express

 The worst train journey I’ve ever had in my life. 

When all my friends moved from RAC to confirmed seats they were allocated in the same compartment except for me. So I moved to my seat and settled myself in upper berth where two guys were lying on each other smoothing towards my right, a guy staring continuously lying towards my straight and another person who was throwing wrapper in my place towards my left. I in-turn threw the wrappers including the paper waste I had back to his place, started to stare the guy back who wasn’t resting to blink his eye and ignored all the gay drama going on the other end. (Get a room idiots!!)

Day 2: Kathgodam - Lohajung - March 17th

We reached Kathgodam by 5am, refreshed ourselves and looked for our cab. The place was too cool and I wore my jerkin immediately after placing our luggages in the car which will take off around 6:30 when the fellow trek-mates arrive. So we took a small walk rambling to the start and end of the street and finally started to Lohajung.

I had egg maggi and lemon tea for my breakfast while my friends had masala noodles and bun omlette. Later we introduced ourselves to rest of the crew and parted in our cars to reach Lohajung.

Initially we were passing a stream with crystal clear water which accompanied us to lead to the freshly blossomed rhododendrons. Driving past that we saw the snow capped mountains covered behind large green mountains smiling at us from distance & atleast I thought it whispered “Welcome Keerthana!!” 

We reached Lohajung, met your trek leaders, unpacked our bags ate our dinner(tasty rotis with paneer mutter masala and dal ~=p) and dozed off real quick.

Day 3: Lohajung - Khukina Top(Wan village) - Lohajung - March 18th

This day planner was a replacement of cancelling our summit day so I wasn’t much excited about it. All I had in my mind was 3km up and 3km to the down returning back to our base camp, an excursion kind of day. But I was proven wrong on the very few minutes. While most of them started to walk fast, my pace was very slow enjoying my path towards the snow, and few stream walks. Savitha and Divya seem to have disappeared in about 20 minutes as they were focusing towards their trek and I got to know about Vicky (Savitha’s friend) who had the same pace as mine. Soon we reached a spot, gathered around and had our packed lunch. To be frank, I hated the lunch however the view I was surrounded by made it the best lunch I’ve ever had. 

Few locales were celebrating Holi with drum beats while we clicked few pictures and started to descent our way back to the basecamp. On the way down, we witnessed few locales whose backyard was full of mules and the young faces were fresh and active. My hyperactive photographic ass started to ask them to pose for my photographs which they did :) A few seconds later, I tried to strike a conversation with my broken Hindi to a young girl who expressed her wishes to move to a city life surrounded by big buildings and I wondered how many of us from the city crave to live in the mountains with a view like this but there she was with an unadulterated smile on her face dreaming about the city life.

The grass is always greener on the other site, isn’t it?

With this thought I descended, petted a dog on the way and drank Black Coffee for the first time :) 

Day 4: Lohajung - Bekaltal - March 19th

Started my day with a bright smile on my face. My bag was heavier than I thought and I couldn’t reduce it despite my repacking efforts. Had a mild back pain the other night and asked Savitha to apply an ointment to ease the pain. Divya told me to offload the backpack considering the weight however I was reluctant to do it. The start 20 mins was very steep and my backpain started to show up gradually increasing on every step. I didn’t want to offload my backpack, and tried to move forward but I was pulled back and finally I gave in and sat in the corner to rest when I knew I couldn’t carry the backpack with the backpain. My friend Vicky and Asst trek leader Afreen were walking beside me (Well, I was technically the last trekker) and a local guide took my backpack. Though my pace was not normal, I was not pulled back either so I started to self motivate and took every step I could. Though I asked my friend Vicky to carry on, he was accompanying me throughout every step for which he later got a day bell awarded to the best trekker of the day :D We reached the Khopdalia tent (I reached the last) and I sacked in to have a small sleep. 

Bekaltal is a ten minute trek up from the tent and we started by evening. My friends thought of letting me rest, but I guess something woke me up and everyone were leaving to witness the Bekaltal lake. I immediately wore my trek shoes and started with them. The path was entirely surrounded by Oak trees, I was certainly sleepy and active at the same time (guess the backpain was a bit subsided by then). The Bekaltal lake was half frozen and very very beautiful. 

We had our dinner sometime later, got to know everyone names through a small game and went back to sleep.

Day 5: Bekaltal - Khorurai - March 20th

Since our summit was cancelled due to bad weather, we were trekking to Khorurai via Jhandi Top instead of Brahmatal lake. I offloaded my bag and was superactive today. After our breakfasts, we packed our lunch and started to walk. On the way Savitha, Vicky and I were chit chatting and as the time went by we reached the Jhandi top. Fortunately we got our signals and everybody video called their family after halting for few minutes. We captured many pictures here and took few boomerangs (including Baahubali backstabbing scenarios). Later we had our lunch (I guess Vicky fed me and savitha mostly to shut our trash talking mouths). I was really happy and even experienced the snow slide which I missed the previous day. My pace was good and I didn’t want to speed it up either. 

We reached the basecamp, got to know a few other trekkers and witnessed the sunset together. Best times!! Best times!!

After few minutes, Savitha and I were upset about each other (not really sure why, but leave me and her alone for a day and what else do you expect? we were really at each other’s neck :D). I started to miss Vivek more, and few drops of tears started to roll down my cheeks which I didn’t realise. Thankfully I was alone in the tent and no one noticed :D I left to the dining camp to have some soup, and Vicky was already there clueless among the Hindi speaking trekkers. Soon everyone started to mingle and they made me to sing Rowdy Baby!! :( :P After sometime everybody joined in and we had our dinner together. Aashay (our trek leader) narrated few stories about Mt Nanda Devi and Mt Nanda Ghundi, we were about 5-6 trekkers listening to them hoping to hear about atleast one mountain ghost. To our disappointment we got to know only about a nuclear reactor planted in Mt Nanda Devi. As the chitchats prolonged, we shared about our crushes, childhood love stories and finally bitching about Savitha as she did me. The night ended on such a fun and memorable note.

Day 5: Khorurai - Lohajung - March 21th

Holi hey!!!!!! The typical Balam Pichkari moment <3

Imagine waking up from a tent, stepping outside on the snow when the fellow treks color our face and make you dance to your own tunes letting your hearts out. This was my morning, and this is why this trip still stands so special to me. 

With a heavy heart, we started to descend to our basecamp witnessing the beautiful rhododendron trees throughout. We sat in a circle during a rest point and Aashay asked us what we were grateful for. I didn’t get a chance to speak there, but I wanted to yell “This, this moment”. I had this subtle feel, “oh, I wish this moment would freeze, wish it never ends”. Guess every trip has one of those moments on why we needed it in the first place and this was mine.

We reached our basecamp, packed our bags and were ready to leave the next day.

For some reason I isolated myself during the dinner, guess I was missing the idiot again and the damn bloody tears started again. I didn’t want anyone to find out, so I sat in a place and had super good custard missing my friend in the dark. Later, I called Vivek and somehow speaking to him made me to weep my heart out and this time in front of Savitha, Divya and Vicky. I was pretty embarrassed later but felt light after speaking to him. I always have my mixed feelings towards myself, and hate to be a teary eyed person. But this idiot made me cry more than thrice so gradually the missing turned into anger B-)

Day 5: Lohajung - Rishikesh - March 22nd

We bid farewell to everybody and started to Rishikesh. A fellow trekker Rhea joined us to Rishikesh and we booked her the same hostel as us. On the way  Savitha and I realised we were badly sunburned (result of no cream attitude) and tried applying all kinds of oil. Meanwhile my hair started to worsen considering the climate, I had become Season 10 Monica all of a sudden with a sun burned face :”>

We reached the Hostel which was really good to be quite frank and my first Hostel stay experience. Everyone were smoking weed and pot in the dinning area of the hostel and seeing the No sex with sound instructions made me feel like Queen Kangana’s Amsterdam experience. Savitha, Divya and I took a girls night out walk to buy some products to soothe our skin while Vicky was enjoying rather a view I’d not like to discuss in public :P

Day 6: Rishikesh - March 23rd

The Bungee jumping day!! I thought of overcoming my fear of heights by taking a leap but fate has something else planned for me. 

I stood there, saw the yellow mark. They asked me to focus on the yellow mark alone and take a jump. Don’t look down they said. But my curious ass and mind peeped down and I started to shake, however I wanted to jump too. I wasn’t sure about the belt so I came back and sat again, asked the person to tighten it. While he did, he tightened it so hard that my back pain started again. I was already demotivated with the heights and the very thought of jumping alone. And the person advised me not to take the jump considering the pain might increase or worse, permanent till I get the right treatment. So I backed out. I was relieved and embarrassed at the same time. But I guess that’s for the good, the jump might have definitely increased my back pain. So the Bungee experience is until next time!!!

The back pain started to reduce slowly, and we proceeded with the river rafting. This was a super cool experience, altogether. We had a small cliff where we could jump directly to the river in a break spot of rafting. That seemed very small from a distance, but I started to panic when I reached the top of the cliff. Savitha was reluctant and ready to push me, so after delaying everyone’s time from my panic expressions, I stepped forward and they pushed me. :( Unfortunately there is a video of this being used as a blackmail tool.  

Day 7: Rishikesh - Delhi - Chennai - March 24th 

We started to Haridwar early morning 4am to board our Shatabji train to Delhi. I slept during my entire train journey and was annoyed most of the time by the lady who sat behind. She let her kid scream loud near by ear, and stretched her legs towards my side bars. My every single train journey is annoyed by these kinda passengers, not sure if this is happening only to me though!! We reached Delhi, had juicy burgers in McDonalds and left to Airport immediately.

Vivek came to the arrival point to my surprise to pick me up. We dropped Savitha in her home and headed to mine. 

This trip was a whole Yeh Jawani Hai Deewani package but sadly, I didn’t get to have a Ranbir Kapoor :(��

[collecting-stories]

Scared | John Shelby

Hi could I please request a John Selby imagine. John has come home bruised and beat up and the kids saw and we're really upset by it. The reader doesn't know if this is the life she wants for her and the children anymore. Thank you, love your work xxx 

Scared | John Shelby

By the time you woke up it was already late in the afternoon. You hadn't gone to sleep until nearly 5am and the sleep you had was mostly restless. Despite the late hour of the day you felt exhausted still as you climbed out of bed and pulled on your robe. The kids had been late to bed, all anxious and restless themselves, and all eventually falling asleep in your bed. None of them were still around but you could hear their voices downstairs, accompanied by the voice of your husband John.  

You headed down to the living room and found them there playing. You paused in the doorway for a moment, observing not just the scene in front of you but your husband's worse for wear appearance. His lips was split and he had a black eye though he was cleaned from the night before, no longer looking like the reason sleep had evaded you.  

It was around one am that John had stumbled through the front door, too drunk to be quiet. You'd been in with Peter, trying to put the toddler to bed with little success when you'd heard your husband downstairs. The little boy had followed you to the stairs and watched as you hurried down to close the front door and help a bleeding John up from the floor.  

There were cuts all over him, a bloodied and swollen lip, a black eye swelled so that he couldn't open it and his clothes covered in dirt and stains. He mumbled incoherently, shouting at random intervals as you struggled to get him into the kitchen. Upstairs, Peter woke his siblings telling them that a scary man was in the house with you. 

Will, the eldest of the boys, and Katie, went downstairs first. The other three trailed after them as they crept from the stairwell to the kitchen, huddled together. In the kitchen you struggled to get John's shoes off him as he moved about in the chair you'd sat him in.  

"You should fucking seen me! I mean! Fucking copper didn't know what hit 'em!" John shouted, pretending to throw a punch and narrowly missing you when you moved out of the way.  

"Not in the house John!" You scolded.  

"Sorry love, but oh man...that was fucking amazing!" He laughed, leaning back in the chair.  

You tossed the shoes to the far side of the room and went to retrieve the large tub so that you could clean him here instead of in the bathroom upstairs. You were trying not to wake up the children. John lost his balance on the chair and fell to the ground, laying his head against the wood and closing his eyes. 

"Mum," Will called from the doorway.  

You turned to find all five children standing there looking frightened at the sight of their father. "Will," you hurried over to them, pushing them out of the room and into the hallway. You closed the door behind you so they couldn't look passed into the kitchen.  

"Is daddy okay?" James asked, holding his blanket tightly against himself for comfort. 

"Of course, daddy is just a little tired. He's okay though." You reassured.  

"He doesn't look okay..." James replied. 

"He's not ill mum, is he?" Katie asked, "Margaret's dad fell ill last month and they say he won't make it." She was already on the verge of tears as she spoke though she wiped them away for the sake of her younger brothers.  

"He's just had a bit too much to drink loves, like Uncle Arthur." You replied, trying to smile.  

"But what about daddy's face? He's all bloody." Henry pointed out. 

"Dad says when someone's that bloody they'll be worth nothing more than dropping in the ocean. Cause they're as good as dead." Will added. 

"Your father and I will have a talk about what he's been telling you when he's rested and put to bed. Now, I'm going to give daddy a bath. Will can you get me some fresh pajamas for him and Katie can you take everyone upstairs. I'll be up to put you to bed shortly." 

"I don't want to sleep alone!" Peter cut in, gripping Katie's hand.  

"Not alone," you rushed to reassure him. 

"Can we stay with you and dad?" Katie asked, hopeful that she might be able to make sure her dad wouldn't meet the same end as Margaret's. 

"Of course." 

Once they were headed back upstairs again you went into the kitchen and worked on getting John undressed and in the tub. Will brought fresh pajamas just as you'd asked and then you shooed him out of the room so that he didn't see his father all beat up. You mended what you could with warm washcloths and bandaged a cut on his arm as best you were able. Cleaning him up wasn’t something you were unaccustomed to but it had been a while since John had taking such a beating.  

"I certainly hope that copper is laying up in the morgue Johnny." You kissed his forehead, careful of the cut above his eyebrow, before toweling him dry and helping him change.  

"He's a dead man." John confirmed, smiling lazily at you as you managed to help him to his feet.  

After that all seven of you huddled together in your bed, the kids mindful of John's injuries but wanting to stay close to him still. He was out fairly quick but the children were harder to calm. Peter, as usual, proved the hardest, keeping you up until nearly 5am until he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.  

Now you stood in the doorway of the living room, watching John laying on the floor playing with Peter and Henry while Katie, Will, and James played a board game. When Peter saw you he got up and hurried over, holding his arms for you to pick him up.  

"Mummy, you're awake!"  

You picked him up and gave him a kiss, "I see I'm the last one."  

"Daddy made us breakfast." Henry said.  

"Is there some breakfast left?" You asked, looking at John and raising an eyebrow.  

John got to his feet and came over. He took Peter from you, telling him to go back to playing. You made your way into the kitchen, John following you in and closing the door so the kids couldn't snoop. He knew you would be upset about last night but he figured if he let you sleep in you would be less angry. Judging by your facial expression that assumption had been wrong.  

"I know you're angry I came home drunk." 

"Is that really why you think I'm angry?" You asked.  

"Why are you angry then?"  

"You came home looking like you'd been fucking jumped John." 

"I had been!" He snapped. "I'm sorry next time I lay by the side of the fucking road and when someone comes to check on me I'll tell 'em 'it's okay just pass on by mate my wife wants me to fucking die here'." 

"Don't make this about me not caring John. You know well enough that I've bandaged more of your wounds than anyone. But we have children here." You replied. 

John didn't say anything back, he just looked over to the corner where the tub sat with his dirtied clothes hanging over the edge. 

"They were terrified last night John. They thought you were going to die. And frankly I was terrified too. I can't have them growing up like this...worried every time you're out too long or when you come home with a bruise or a cut. It's not fair that they should have to be scared every night because they don't know if their dad will be okay." You said.  

When you and John had started dating you understood that this was the life that you were choosing for yourself. The worrying nights and the danger every time he went off with Tommy. But as the kids got older it was hard for you to rationalize forcing them to accept this as normal. Peter had cried for hours last night and you couldn't help thinking that it was partially your fault, for letting this continue for so long.  

"Don't." John said, knowing where you were going with this. 

"I think this isn't healthy for them." 

"Please don't. I need you and the kids." John repeated, "you're the only good thing in my life."  

"John." 

"No, listen. I'm sorry about last night. It won't happen again." He said. 

"You can't promise me that. I just can't keep putting the kids in this position, having to see you like that is terrifying John and to make them see you that way. To have Peter, whose hardly five, see his father like that is scary and unfair." You sighed and placed a hand on his cheek, "I'm taking the kids to my mum's for a week. Just to figure things out." 

"Please don't." He reached up and took your hand in his, holding it against his chest instead. 

"I'll stay...the kids need some normality though." You caved, not really wanting to be apart from him but not knowing for sure what the best thing to do for everyone was. You didn’t want to separate your family but you couldn’t keep up this lifestyle.  

John nodded. He would spend the next week convincing you that things could be different, that the business didn't have to interfere with your family life. That he could be a good father and that the house could be a safe place for your children to grow up.  

Sweet, sweet John.

[veneataur]

Fandom: BBC’s The Musketeers

Day 10 of 24

Title: For the Kids

A/N: I don’t think there’s anything to warn about in this one other than some language. Things get a little heated. It takes place a full year after Aramis has shown up on Treville’s doorstep. He’s through the worst of his illnesses and back to work, but he’s still not 100% yet.

When Porthos wakes around 10 am and wanders downstairs, Athos calls him into the den before he gets too far.

“What’s wrong,” he asks, noticing that Athos is still in his robe and looks like he hasn’t slept much.

“It’s Aramis,” Athos says quietly.

“He’s not baking, is he?” After getting off work yesterday afternoon, Aramis started baking for the Boys and Girls Club bake sale. Around 2 am they finally managed to get him to bed. He was tired and had managed to burn a tray of cookies, but was still trying to push on. This was on top of a week of prepping dough and freezing it to bake later. Porthos barely had had space this week to get dinner together.

“He got up sometime during the night. I woke up about 5am and found him in there baking away.”

“He had enough to feed an army midweek. What’s he thinking? Have you been able to talk with him?”

“All he says is that he’s fine and then goes back to work.” Athos shrugs his shoulders.

“But he’s clearly not.” They’ve been doing their best to keep an eye on him this week, making sure that he remains steady even as he bakes away.

“Yeah.” Porthos nods. “Did you talk with Treville?”

“His best guess was ours. Thought maybe Aramis should see Lemay about it.” They’d gone through several psychiatrists for Aramis, none of them being a good fit for the man. He either refused to tell them everything or the plans they gave him didn’t work for him. Lemay had been their last chance and Aramis had taken a quick liking to him and his approach.

Given Aramis’ situation, Lemay has also offered to be available for house calls and talking by phone. These are intended more as emergency services but they have already made use of the offer a number of times. The only requirement Lemay has is that, unless it is a life-threatening situation or Aramis is unable to himself, none of them can make the call for Aramis. The young man himself must reach out to Lemay for help. Part of their sessions is training Aramis to recognize when he’s in too deep and needs help to find his way back out.

“He’s not going to call Lemay himself,” Porthos says.

“Then we need to convince him that he needs to,” Athos counters. “He can’t keep going like this.”

“No, he can’t, but I don’t relish the idea of talking to him about this.”

“I can go in alone, if you want,” Athos offers.

“No, no. I’ll help. I just know this isn’t going to end well and I hate being the ones to put him there.”

“He’s going to bake himself into exhaustion if we let him go and then it’ll be worse.” Athos pauses. “We can call Treville in for help if you want.”

“No, we can’t keep relying on him. He has his own family.”

“Aramis is a part of his family. He’d come here in a heartbeat.”

“And that’s why we can’t call him,” Porthos says. “Him and Sarah are taking the kids to the Shedd Aquarium today. I’m not going to interrupt their day and Aramis would feel terrible if we did.”

“Then, let’s get in there and tackle this situation ourselves. The sooner we get him talked down, the sooner we can start to get him back on track.”

Stepping foot into the kitchen, Porthos is surprised by what he sees. There are several containers of cookies, brownies, cupcakes, and more stacked to the side in neat rows. On the island are a few cooling rack stackable sets with an array of cookies on them. The mixer is going on the counter with containers of flours, nuts, dried fruits, sugars, and chocolates covering the counters. The counters are sprinkled with some of each from these containers. At the island, Aramis is bent over, carefully piping icing on a sugar cookie. He hasn’t taken note of their arrival.

From what Porthos can see of Aramis, the young man is still wearing the sweats and t-shirt they wrangled him into last night. His hair is disheveled, to say the least, sticking up in areas and looking rather unkempt. There’s a familiar shake in Aramis’ hands, one that keeps the young man cursing and pausing.

“How’s it going, ‘Mis,” Porthos asks, loud enough to be heard over the noise of the mixer.

Aramis looks up, startled. “Porthos,” he says, a weak smile on his face. “Things are good. I’m making progress.” He goes back to icing.

“When do you think you’ll be done,” Athos asks. He and Porthos are standing on the edges of the kitchen. They don’t want to make Aramis feel crowded or pressured.

“I’ve got about a half dozen more types of cookies to make, a couple more batches of cupcakes and brownies each, and then some hand pies. That, of course, doesn’t count the decorating. That itself could take me the rest of the weekend.”

“The bake sale is tomorrow, Aramis,” Porthos says.

“I know, I know and I’m working as fast as I can to get this all done.” Aramis turns to shut off the mixer, cursing when he looks inside. “Left it to mix too long.” He yanks the bowl from the mixer and goes to empty the contents into the bin.

“There will be other people bringing things. You don’t have to make all of this.”

“I know, I know. But it’s not a problem. I want to do everything I can for the kids.” Aramis is vigorously washing out the bowl, water splashing onto him and on the counter around the sink.

“This is more than enough. They’ll never sell it all.” Porthos takes a few steps forward.

“Maybe, maybe not. You never know, there might be a rush. Things happen that we don’t expect,” Aramis rambles as he starts measuring out ingredients into the now cleaned and dried mixing bowl. His movements are sloppy from lack of sleep and his shaky hands, meaning that more lands on the counters and floor at times than in the bowl. Still, he moves undeterred.

Porthos and Athos share a look as the man works, each holding back a sigh. They have to push more, get more direct. Neither are looking forward to it.

“Aramis, you need to stop,” Athos says.

“What?” Aramis turns quickly, losing his balance a bit as his socked feet lose traction in the flour sprinkled floor. “Why?” He gives them a puzzled, hurt look.

“You’ve baked more than enough,” Porthos says. “You’re exhausted. You need to get some rest. Athos and I will clean up in here.” He takes another step forward, standing now at the opposite end of the island than Aramis.

“No, I’m fine. I’m feeling good. Plenty of energy to keep going.” He pulls himself up, straightening his shoulders and goes back to work.

“Aramis.” Porthos closes the distance between him and Aramis. “Aramis,” he says again. “You have to stop. There’s no need to keep baking.”

“Yes, yes there is.” Aramis leaves the bowl partly attached and backs away from Porthos, returning to his careful piping of the cookies.

“Why?” Athos takes a few steps forward, making sure to leave Aramis plenty of space. He looks to Porthos, silently telling him to stay put.

“Because I need to help the kids. I have to help them out,” Aramis mutters.

“They have plenty of help already. You’ve done enough. You can stop,” Porthos says, voice firm but gentle.

“No. No.” Aramis drops the icing bag and goes to check the oven. “There’s never enough that can be done. Can’t fail them. Can’t fail the kids, again.” When he goes to pull out the pan in the oven without an oven mitt, Athos jumps into action, pulling the young man away. Their feet get tangled in each other and both tumble to the floor, limbs smacking harshly on the tile as neither are prepared for the fall.

Aramis quickly disentangles himself and leaps up to get the pan. Porthos sees it in time to reach in with an oven mitt on his own and grab the pan out, but it still catches Aramis’ bare hands on the way out. When Aramis yelps in shock, Porthos nearly drops the pan but gets it safely to a cooling rack on the island. Meanwhile, Athos has shut the oven door and Aramis is quickly sinking to the floor again, leaning against the cupboards.

By the time they settle down on either side of him, making sure that they’re gently pressed against him, he’s laid his head on his arms, which are crossed and balanced on his bent knees. There’s a familiar sound of his heavy breathing as he tried to hold his emotions in check. He’s better now with his emotions, but he still has bad days and days like today where events align to wreck that precarious control.

They wait as he works to calm himself, sniffling a few times as the expected tears come. Athos put a gentle hand on the man’s neck to comfort him as he goes through his usual stages.

“How’re your hands,” Porthos asks, when Aramis seems to have finally calmed.

“Is that what you really want to ask?” There’s a touch of anger in Aramis’ voice.

“Yes.” Porthos keeps his voice calm. He knows they’ve pushed Aramis to his limit and that the young man is not happy with them. “How are your hands? Did I catch them badly with that pan?”

“No,” Aramis says, voice muffled by his position. “You didn’t. They’re just a touch sore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was an accident, Porthos.”

“Not just for that.”

“Oh.” Aramis looks up at Porthos.

“I’m sorry, as well,” Athos says. “But you know that we had to do it.”

“Yes and no. I’m just trying to help those kids.”

“Which kids?”

“The ones who need my help.”

Porthos and Athos remain quiet.

“Fuck,” Aramis says quietly, leaning his head against the cabinets. “I didn’t… I don’t… I’m never going to be free of that, am I?”

Porthos looks to see that while Aramis’ eyes are closed, the tears have started again. There’s a familiar look of despair in his expression.

“It takes time, ‘Mis,” Porthos says, massaging Aramis’ shoulder with his hand. “You’ve made a lot of progress, but it’s not going to all be over in the blink of an eye.”

“But everything had been going well. No flashbacks, panic attacks for a month, and now this.” He bangs his head against the cabinet in frustration.

“Don’t do that,” Athos says, putting a hand up between Aramis’ head and the cabinet. “Come here.” He encourages the younger man to lean against him. Their near equal height makes it awkward, but they make it work out of months of practice. Porthos moves himself around to sit in front of Aramis and Athos. Again, this is a well-practiced arrangement.

“Lemay said that you would have minor setbacks, little hiccups on your road to recovery. It’s a marathon, Aramis. As tired as you are of hearing that, you have to keep that in mind.” Porthos sets his hands on Aramis’ bent knees as he talks gently to the younger man. He is sure to keep Aramis’ gaze in his own.

“I know.” Aramis wipes his running nose with his shirt. “I just want to be back to normal. I want this to just go away.” He tucks in closer to Athos.

“I’m sorry, ‘Mis,” Athos says. He is rubbing a hand on Aramis’ back to try to comfort him. “You know there’s no going back to who you were. I won’t say that you’re better for what you’re dealing with. Only you can decide that. But you are getting better. These little setbacks are just that, little. A few months ago you weren’t even doing any baking and if something like this had happened, it would’ve taken hours to pull you out of it.”

“And, what’s more, you saw it yourself without us pointing it out,” Porthos says.

“And then I collapsed in a heap of tears,” Aramis counters.

“You’re human. Humans cry when shitty things happen.” Porthos shrugs his shoulders. Aramis chuckles, face crinkly with dried tears.

They sit in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company.

“I guess I have to call Lemay, don’t I,” Aramis says quietly.

“That’s up to you. You know we can’t make that decision,” Athos says.

Aramis pauses, thinking. “I should at least talk to him on the phone. Maybe see if he wants to make a house call.”

“You have your phone,” Porthos asks.

“In my pocket.” Aramis fishes out the phone, still keeping his spot on Athos. As he finds the phone number and waits on it to dial he says, “I hate setbacks.”

[planetwalker]

Reflections on 6 years of sobriety

Today, May 18th, I officially have not had a drop of alcohol in my system for six years. It has been a long road, and without the support of my family, my friends, and my therapist I would likely be dead or in prison. More that likely, dead. Also, I would like to thank a doctor I knew personally (she shall remain nameless) who risked her professional career by prescribing me medicine to keep me from going into seizures when I quit drinking the first time at twenty (for a year and a half), because of my refusal to go to rehab or do it any other way than in my house, alone. I woke myself up with an alarm every four hours for over ten days to manually check my own blood pressure and administer the medicine that would keep me alive and not convulsing, seizing, or having delirium tremens. It wasn't pretty.

My alcoholism had taken me to a depth of insanity that ended in me finally drinking nearly a 1.5 liter bottle of hard liquor a day, plus beer to wash it down. That's when your tolerance has beaten you so far into the ground that you pretty much just wake up and begin drinking again. There's just not enough time in the day to drink that much otherwise. That is no exaggeration. From about 10am until 5am the next morning, I would drink whiskey in a nearly constant way. There would often only be a half-inch of the largest bottles of liquor they sell left in my freezer by morning. A hair of the dog that bit me, which would get me to the liquor store for a fresh new dog. I think I spent about 25 dollars a day on booze for those 5 last (and worst) years after my initial relapse. That's about 45,000 dollars, more than triple what I have ever made in a year of my working life.

On this sixth anniversary of sobriety though, I'm not really reflecting on my accomplishments in the past, but I'm using it as an opportunity to talk about something far more deadly and much more hard for me to deal with, or speak about. I have to begin at the beginning, but every word of this is difficult to write, I will try my best to speak openly and honestly.

After many years of denial, after being psychologically tested at fourteen years old and severely misdiagnosed and mismedicated, put on lithium, and poisoned to a point of amnesia. After a week in a psychiatric hospital at twenty due to suicidal ideation, and after eleven more years of waiting (including these six sober years), I finally went to a psychiatrist to get a full mental health assessment, at the behest of my family. A multitude of tests, by the most progressive and up to date standards were administered by an expert clinician. I waited to hear the conclusion I pretty much have known my whole life was coming: I have Bipolar II, without a shadow of a doubt, and on the nose.

The good news: I have rote number memorization in the 99th percentile, as well as a smattering of other high-functioning brain abilities that I cannot take any real credit for. I just know how to memorize and remember things in a way that seems insane to most people. I can recite texts I read when I was ten forwards and backwards. I once made a rap out of the alphabet being recited backwards. I remember memorizing decks of randomized playing cards as a kid, just for fun, to see if I could name the last card in the deck. I found out many years later after requesting my transcripts that my IQ had been tested at fourteen as well during those psych exams and largely said the same thing, I was in the 99.975 percentile, something like 151. Unfortunately then, their only concern was me being able to "sit down and listen in school", which I found to be impossible, boring, and frustrating to the point that acting out was my only recourse. I remember refusing to say the pledge of allegiance in the 4th grade after reading a book on my own about the genocide of American Indians, and the horrors of slavery instituted by the very same people who wrote these documents. I was a little shit, too smart for my own good, and I needed to be controlled.

I was expelled from school in the 6th grade for printing out "The Devil's Cookbook" (essentially a bomb making guide, and anarchist literature), from the schools library, hundreds of pages. I went to a "democratic school" run by hippies for the rest of the year where I mostly skateboarded and flirted with girls. I spent 7th grade with my father living in South Africa, and was quickly shuffled out of middle school after arriving back halfway through 8th grade. They couldn't wait to get rid of me. My one saving grace was my music teacher named Ken Johnson, who always let me stay late after school and practice guitar, piano, singing. I don't think I could have finished that year without his support, he turned me on to great music I never would have heard. Mostly, he just got that was talented and interesting, and not just a little shit. That pretty much ended my formal education. I read manuals and textbooks in my spare time and proceeded to get my GED at 15 and tested again to receive a stamped and signed high school diploma (with honors!) from the Rockville Board of Education (the same document all my fellow graduating seniors would get at 18, after wandering the halls for four years of the hellhole I abandoned). I still think skipping high school was the smartest decision I ever made in my life. I have never met anyone who says they learned almost anything in high school except "I still have friends that I know on Facebook", which really says a lot. I was accepted into The Evergreen State College two days before my sixteenth birthday. I had not filled out the small line that asked for age on the application, and apparently nobody noticed. I flew across the country to Olympia, Washington that spring and began my studies in creative writing, ecology, and a self-created major with my friend Sky Cosby: "Liberating the voices of incarcerated youth", which we had a brilliant and very optimistic professor graciously sign off on. We called it "Celldom Heard". We threw a great hip-hop showcase in Red Square that year, as well as producing a DIY chapbook of prisoner literature. My drinking career also really took off at this time, as I was a seventeen year old on a college campus thousands of miles away from home. My gambling too, playing poker anywhere I could, often at seedy clubs and online with a pre-paid debit card, as well as hosting poker tournaments with everyone I knew and could convince to lose their money to me. I could do anything I wanted. I never lied about my age, but simply refused to tell anyone for quite a long time. Age is just a number, right? Says any self-righteous seventeen year old.

My grandiosity surely impressed people; I have been a performer since as long as I can remember (my mother always jokes that I was ready to go entertain people since I left the womb). A magician at five, playing piano and performing music by ten; writing, slamming poetry at the national championships at fifteen, it never stopped. I was in the center of the room, and I thought that meant something, not just that I was an egomaniac, sure to be on the cover of Rolling Stone by the time I was twenty-one. My parents couldn't understand why I could never get up for school, they didn't know till years later that I would put a towel under my door to block the light and stay up all night reading and writing, until about 5:30, where I would sleep for thirty minutes before my father came down the hall to wake me up for the bus. I don't know how I survived. Years pass; trying to drink my hypomania away, trying, jamming alcohol down my throat followed by NyQuil, Ambien, Benedryl, all to try to just get to sleep, that one unattainable goal I could never quite reach. At some point my dreams just disappeared into darkness. As the years progressed further, some of the darker sides of hypomania began to present themselves; impulsive spending, reckless gambling, strings of unhealthy sexual relationships, all of which were doomed to failure from the start. Anger, rage, darkness, depression, and finally, the scariest points of this last year of my life: Mixed-Episodes.

In the past year and a half, I have had to experiment with a regimen of drugs until finally finding the right dosage and medicine to help me live a functional life. And as much as people can be proud of you for conquering alcohol, it's a much harder beast to speak out about your mental illness. I remember once going on a date, and the first thing my date started talking about was her "crazy bipolar ex-boyfriend", he was an "alcoholic too, so I'm so glad you don't drink". What to even say? I'm a fucking mess, girl, you don't want to get anywhere near me, trust me. And what to do? Deny, deflect, and continue to function (sobriety will buy you a lot of time in doing this, as you can use it as an excuse that you've gotten help and are doing fine). Hypomania, actually also keeps you functioning at such a high level. I have been able to operate on about 4-5 hours of sleep for as long as I can remember. I produce music all night in my solitary zen wonderland, read about 3-4 non-fiction books a week, about topics from psychophysiology to economics to super-string theory. Memoirs about drug abuse to politics to mountain climbing. Anything I could get my hands on. People wondered at work out loud often to me "where do you find the time?!". My response was always the same: I am awake and doing things when you are asleep. My hours of extra work were from 10pm-5am. That's seven hours of intense, single-minded focus that hypomania can provide you with, and it is a very very hard thing to want to give up, especially if your depressive spells are severe, but not all that frequent.

This went on for years. I traveled the world, studied all manners of healing and spirituality, motorcycling through the dirty terrain of Cambodia at night, swerving around cattle barely visible until hitting the glint of my low-beams, yards ahead. Being chased by wild dogs on a night I was sure I was going to die and be ripped to pieces. Nothing could stop me. Ever. I was a star exploding at light speed through the galaxy, burning as bright as anything you had ever seen, but sure to collapse upon it's own weight and gravity eventually. I paid this no mind, as I had decided at about twelve that I was sure I would never make it to my 30th birthday alive. I didn't really want to. I wanted to live, hard, fast, intense, non-stop, now. I came pretty close to making that pact a reality. I'm only 31 now, but this year I finally made strides to comprehend and look deeply at who I am and what is happening to me, and what factors are chemical imbalances in my brain, rather that just my insane hyperactivity. I had never even thought to blame anyone but myself. Or thank anyone but myself. My choices were my fault. Everyone else's judgements about me were right, but fuck them, I didn't care, I'll move on to someone else who sees the good parts with the darkness hidden.

The mixed episodes began, and got worse quickly. This is where you have the intensity of the hypomania mixed with the self-hatred of the deepest and darkest depression you have ever felt. Suddenly all that energy I had to conquer the world was turned inwards into a pattern of suicidal ideation, agoraphobia, blowups with close friends, despising my family, hanging up on my father after screaming matches, all of it, more. So much more I can't even write it all down. It was the hardest time of my life, a thousand times harder than my worst days of drinking, without a doubt. At least then I had something to numb out the pain, something to try and quell the manic thoughts and get some sleep. I always used to say "drinking *is* a coping skill, it's just not a healthy one." It's true. Now, instead, I had hypersomnia, sleeping 14 hours a day, unable to get out of bed, whole weeks where I never left my house, fear of everything outside. I was so scared I bought a gun. Then I was scared that I had a gun in my house. Worried I might shoot myself, or worse, mistake some passerby as a burglar and shoot some innocent stranger. Afraid and anxious about the outside world, uncontrollable sobbing for hours at a time, the inability to pull myself out of it for more than 20 minutes before collapsing back into the despair and pain I can't describe as anything short of brutal psychological torture.

The first doctor I saw in New Orleans (who I later found out accepted thousands of dollars from big pharma, of course) told me outright that he didn't care about the tests, he was sure I had Bipolar I, which is much scarier and involves hallucinations, delusional thinking (I am Barack Obama, people are out to get me, etc.), psychosis, and far worse symptoms. He prescribed me tranquilizers that nearly killed me in the following three months. My depression worsened. He suggested I up my dosage. I declined. I am very fortunate and lucky that he was wrong about me having Bipolar I, and that I have the lesser of these two evils, and I never forget that.

That didn't matter though: my agoraphobia worsened to the point that I couldn't get into my car, could barely make it to my porch to check my mail. I didn't go grocery shopping for three months and ate chinese food ever night. Agoraphobia, means literally "fear of the public square", and comes from our (very smart) reptile brains that were afraid of the open savannah. This is because birds of prey could see us from above and pick us off while exposed without a tree to hide beneath. It is a very primal instinct, and hard to counteract. My anxiety attacks got worse and worse, the medication wasn't helping, it was making things worse, but I continued to swallow them down, convinced I was just adjusting. I was not.

My parents finally begged me to come home to Connecticut and see a doctor who was a specialist with Bipolar males of my age, and after months of fighting them off, I reluctantly agreed. And he likely saved my life. He took my off the tranquilizer immediately, and I began to experience emotions again. Not great ones, but at least something. And then I was put on Lamictal, the only Bipolar medication that has been approved for Bipolar II and come on the market since Lithium did in 1948. Lithium is the aforementioned drug that I refused to ever try again, after I was put on it at fourteen, and which cost me a year of my life I can barely recall but for hazy half-memories, lost in a sea of white noise. And to the gracious angels, goddesses, or simply to the smart psychiatrists diagnosing me correctly and providing me with a plan of action including proper medication and therapy, have saved my life.

I cook dinner every night. I went to the grocery store the other day, then the bank, then the post office. I didn't even mind. It felt kind of great. I always ask how people are doing, a habit I've always done. It's amazing how the little things can go such a long way. When I call Cox to complain that my internet has gone out again, I always start with "Hey, my name is Sam Dillon, how are you doing today?". The other night I was met with "No one has asked me that in a week". Try it, it's pretty fun. Sometimes a grocery store clerk will literally break down in tears and tell you about her bad day. That happened not to long ago too. I still go to sleep late still, up reading books, but when I'm ready to fall asleep, I drift off into the odd and vivid dreams I remember having since I was a child, the same ones that disappeared for more than a decade. I am on the path to recovery, not there yet, and as with my alcoholism, I take small steps and don't get ahead of myself.

I was born with a strange chemical imbalance, not much different that someone with diabetes or anemia or Crohn's disease or autism. The large difference is the stigma. When you are an impulsive, grandiose, gambling, alcoholic maniac, nobody gives you much slack that you can't just "get your life together", "fix your problems", or simply "stop acting this way". There is no discussion of treatment (other than AA, a religious doctrine started by holocaust-deniers, sorry AA folks), not much in the way of offering help, a lot of blame and a small amount of empathy. You can only burn so many bridges before people don't want to come near you. And I've burned a lot. Lost of a lot of good friends. Sometimes I'm amazed that most of my family still even talks to me. Some of them barely do. I understand. I empathize. I get it. I know why, even though I know they also just don't understand what I have been struggling with my whole life and simply blame me and say I "always play the victim".

I have not been easy to deal with for many, many years. Even in sobriety I have been a raging asshole to deal with at times. At the height of my hypomanic episodes I have been explosive, unpredictable, and stubborn beyond belief. Impossible to deal with. I have always been this way, in a sense, and for many years, it served me. I skipped high school completely, choosing to get my education through books, following politics and world affairs, listening to everything around me, absorbing knowledge and skills like a sponge, learning from the world and by trial and (a lot of) error. When I made a decision, there was no challenging me or changing my mind. I followed my gut to the ends of the earth and back. Nobody could have stopped me, though many tried.

So on this day I celebrate six years since I touched a drop of alcohol, I guess I would like to begin not by celebrating at all, but by admitting what I was actually trying to drink away, the hypomania, the depression. By admitting that getting to the root of a problem is often just the beginning of seeing a deeper one. That hitting rock bottom only happens when you stop digging, and try to find a way out. That stigmatizing people who are mentally ill is killing millions of people every year. That suicide recently surpassed homicide as the second-leading cause of death in teenagers each year, after car accidents. That our military veterans come home wounded in body and mind and have a suicide rate that is drastically high, with little to no mental health treatment available. Just "be a man and deal with it" leads to guns being put to heads, nooses being wrapped around throats. That we as a society must change the way we treat the mentally ill, simply as people who have an illness no more controllable or treatable alone than Parkinson's. What's the difference? There is no difference but our mind-state, that's the difference. I worked in a Psychiatric hospital for almost 7 years, and I am still amazed at the daily comments from doctors, nurses, staff in general: "Oh, she's just Borderline", "He's just an attention-seeking teenage brat", "He's just classic Bipolar, throw him on Seroquel". "She's just a Benzo-head", "He's just a fucking drunk", "If he even starts acting up, throw him into isolation and we'll put him down with a shot of B52", (this is what we called the injected cocktail of Benedryl 50 with 2mg of Ativan, the B50-2). "He's crazy as a loon". "Don't even try to talk to her". "He's just an old asshole". "Homeless grunt trying to get a free meal". "He's not nice enough, I don't think we should let his kids visit". "She's a classic cutter, let her find a paper clip and do her worst, just ignore her". Daily. During "Report", as they called it. On the floor of the hospital within earshot of other patients. Sometimes directly to a patients face. Adults, Adolescents, Children as young as four years old. I worked directly with them all. And every time I heard "YOU JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND", I remember distinctly thinking: "You're right, I don't understand your exact nature, your exact chemical imbalance or behavioral disorder, but I refuse to not try and help you in whatever way I can. I will show you as best I can that I am WILLING to try to understand, not just that I do", because most of the time, you just don't. But you can try. Empathize. Don't be scared of us. We're your mailmen, postal workers, neighbors, bartenders, waitresses, telemarketers, local business owners, bosses, employees, co-workers, friends, family, loved ones, heroes and heroines.

Which leads me to my last thought. Last night we lost another amazing musician and gentle soul to suicide, Chris Cornell. Add him to the list of amazing artists we have lost to suicide, drugs, and alcohol over the last few years, decades, and the list is too great to comprehend. And the biggest killer of us all is the inability to speak out without being judged, I can speak to that from experience. Saying (or writing) all of this is very hard, when I could be taking myself out to a steak dinner and saying "I used to spend 25 bucks a day on booze, time to treat myself to something nice". I could be getting a relaxing massage. I used to do that. I don't anymore. Now I reflect on what comes next, what the future looks like, what I can do about it personally and globally, and what is beyond my control. I urge other members of my community, and communities around the world to speak up and speak out for themselves and those they love when confronted with the silence that permeates mental illness and awareness of all kinds.

We can't afford another Robin Williams, Chris Cornell, Aaron Swartz, Kurt Cobain, Hemingway, Hunter S. Thompson, Van Gogh, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, David Foster Wallace, et al. The thousands of unnamed teenagers and unknown mothers and fathers who have to live every day knowing their child is gone. We as the mentally ill need to speak out, and we as a culture need to speak out against the stigma, which increases mortality rates more than any chemical in our brains, of that I am sure. So, help us. Stand up for us. Yes, ask us to get help for ourselves too, and be patient when we need time, or aren't sure, or don't want to talk about it, but keep on pressing. We need the reminder, even when we don't want to hear it. We need the reminder that someone needs us on this earth, and they refuse to let us go without fighting for our lives, and without us fighting for our own.

"Most of us are acutely aware of our own struggles and we are preoccupied with our own problems. We sympathize with ourselves because we see our own difficulties so clearly. But as Ian MacLaren noted wisely, “Let us be kind to one another, for most of us are fighting a hard battle.”

Good luck and godspeed.

May 18th, 2017

Sam Dillon

[crabsticksforbreakfast]

Rational Voices

Yesterday was perhaps the most valuable day I've had in a while. It gave me a chance to pick things apart with people who saw it all in a much more rational way. What I started with was a brain full of chaos, and what I ended with was a sense of calm. I woke up feeling bitter, lost, and wishing for everything to be different. Friday had really knocked me for six, and even though I'd had some positive words from WW, Dobbs and Auntsister, for some reason my mind was focussing on the negatives. Clearly S2 didn't actually like me, or if he did, it wasn't enough to actually man up and do something about it! Of course there must be something wrong with me and I'd end up alone for the rest of my life! I tried my best to distract myself from these troubling thoughts. It was 5AM and I knew that if I let myself lay there, panicking and pondering, I'd end up making myself ill. My heart palpitations were off the scale and my head felt it could burst. Enough was enough. I needed to do something else. First off, I sorted out my music on my phone which took a while. Then I read some travel blog posts. By this time it was a much more sensible time of the morning, so desperate for company, I sent out a few texts to friends to see if anyone wanted to meet up. I also took to an anxiety support group on Facebook and got some very helpful replies. Three people, two women and one man, all had reassuring words for me. One woman said things started out the same way for her and her husband and that she needed to be really upfront with him to convince him she liked him. The man said that he himself is so insecure in himself that he acts in a similar way to S2, and advised me to take the lead and be open about my feelings. Of course, the thought of opening up terrified me, but I knew they were right. Of course it was fear making S2 act like that! Why would he say all those things to me before if he didn't mean them? But still, despite knowing this, I still felt anxious and frustrated. Eventually I got a text from my wise friend Oracle (I think I've called her another code name before, but I can't remember what it was). She has always been a voice of reason for me and is one of the few people who has left work and stayed in touch. It was her house I stayed at last summer to detox my brain from TBO. There's just something about Oracle and her beach house that just calms me and allows me to see things clearly. Anyway, Oracle said she had friends over during the day but I was more than welcome to join them, or I could come at about 4 as they should be gone by then. Not feeling up for meeting new people, I decided to hang on until 4. In the meantime I found solace in silliness. I walked around the house singing silly songs to myself, expressing my anger and frustration, but veiled enough by humour that my mother didn't catch on that something was wrong. I knew that whatever advice she would give would be too harsh to suit the situation. She always views it that MEN SHOULD BE MEN and she would have criticised S2 for letting me down without considering his insecurities or his autism. I mean, her opinion is her opinion, but if I'd allowed myself to listen to it, it would have only fuelled my anger. So, silly songs it was! After silly songs, I decided to write an actual song, and for the first time in ages, I was able to bang something out in under an hour. I only recorded a demo as I created it electronically and I only have the demo version of Fruity Loops, so I will have to edit all the individual clips together in another program. I'm quite pleased with it so far, though. I also got started on another song, but that's far from finished. Eventually it was time to go to Oracle's house. One friend was still there when I arrived, which unsettled me at first, but actually, I'm so glad she was there! We all sat in the summerhouse and talked about this and that, and then Oracle asked me how things were going with S2. I was reluctant to say at first, but then I decided to spill the beans, all of them! I ran through the most recent situations, giving Oracle's friend the back story to catch her up. I even read out the "risky" conversation in its entirety. What was interesting was their reaction to it all. Bear in mind these two women are around 60 years old and have a lot more life experience than me. Both of them felt that he definitely liked me, but he was just shy. They both had quite a good understanding of autism too, and applied it to the situation in a way that made perfect sense. I had thought I was being explicit enough, but apparently not. I needed to be much more direct! Also, little things like him following me frantically out the door at work a couple of times was indicative of him not wanting me to leave but not knowing how to say it. Oracle and her friend told me it is me who has to take control simply because he can't. His autism won't let him. Once Oracle's friend had left, Oracle and I went up to her her house and ate dinner. We then sat and discussed things further. Oracle said so many things that made me stop dead in my tracks and rethink everything. She made me realise that the way I have been obsessing about things is not healthy for me and is actually more likely to push S2 away as he will pick up on the desperate vibes. She gave me techniques to calm my mind and to see things more clearly. By 11:30 I felt so relaxed that my heart palpitations had stopped completely, and all of the anger and bitterness had gone. I now had a plan, which wasn't really a plan after all - just to let things unfold in their own time, but to be proactive when the time was right, and to be patient and stop filling in the gaps in a desperate attempt to get answers. I slept properly for the first time in weeks last night. This morning there is still a certain amount of adrenaline rushing through me, but I'm working on calming it down. I'm going to be much more aware of where my mind wanders to from now on. When I think of S2, I will have only positive, constructive thoughts, and I'll let them pass through without clutching on to them for dear life. I think today I might either try to get some uni work done, or I might work more on my songs. There's no point sitting obsessively by the phone in case S2 messages me. He probably won't, but if he does, I need to be in a calm enough frame of mind to deal with it properly.

[esdeathera]

08/30/19

Mari broke my heart into pieces but it's my fault. I violated his privacy and that's unforgivable. He can no longer trust me. I can no longer trust him either. We're over. Hindi naman na masesave 'tong relasyon na 'to. I'm just going to go there so we can talk. After no'n, focus na ako sa buhay ako, walang siya at ako. Walang kami. Walang kahit na anong may kinalaman sa kaniya. I'm going to move on from my life. Think about my family, think about myself. Kahit ano. I've been proving myself to him. I've gave every bit of me for him to love me back. That's toxic. Forcing someone to love you back? That's bullshit.

"Lalo kitang aayawan."

"Nakakaturn off"

"Nakakagago"

"Botchog"

"Tangina neto"

Those are just one of the things that he uttered to me. Those hurtful words that could never be repay with anything. I loved him dearly, but do I deserve this kind of treatment? This would be the shittiest relationship that I've had. Sobrang nawala ko sarili ko rito. Mas nawala pa kaysa sa noong nakilala ko si Joel. 'Yong kay Joel nakayanan ko kaagad. Itong kay Mako, hindi. Walang mangyayari. Hindi ko talaga kaya na.

Is it necessary to tell those things just because he's jealous? I've been jealous for the whole fucking time but I still act calmly. I didn't say anything. Ako pa nga sumuyo noong nagalit siya and it's actually happening again right now. But this time, it will be over for the two of us.

It's over for us.

He removed his relationship status on Facebook. He's now single in the eyes of everyone. He's now free again! While me, I'm still in love with the fact that I love him, that I will never ever get over from him. Ganoon naman yata? Binigay ko kasi halos lahat sa kaniya. Wala nang natira sa akin. Ubos na ubos na ako. Siya na lang talaga, sa kaniya na lang ako kumukuha ng lakas.

If I'm going to vanish right now and let him cool off, will he miss me? Will he chat me again and say, "hey! bati na tayo, mahal na mahal pala kita. hindi ko kayang wala ka sa'kin."

I can actually beg him all day if I have enough time. Pero mahalaga rin trabaho ko bukas, sobrang mahalaga 'yon kaya hindi pwede. Kung pupuntahan ko siya ngayon, walang mangyayari. Malelate pa ako sa work niyan baka mawala pa ako bigla.

I'll go there Friday night. Wait for him to see me. Kahit ano, basta maghihintay ako roon. Kahit anong mangyari, maghihintay ako. Wala man siya ro'n o madaling araw na uuwi, maghihintay ako. Mapahamak man ako (which is much better for me), maghihintay ako.

I can't say that this would be the last time that I'm going to do it for him. Kasi ngayon, hindi ko na rin naman na talaga alam. Nababaliw na nga ako, e. Gustong-gusto ko kasi talaga siya. Mahal na mahal ko 'yong tao pero I know better. I don't fucking deserve this. I don't fucking deserve to be treated this way. I deserve more than this fucked up treatment.

Ano na, Chezka? Is this the best thing that you can do? Fight until you bleed? Fight until you can no longer bleed? Is this what you want to happen? To die while fighting for the love that you want? Hindi na baleng ikaw 'yong masaktan basta maayos kayo? Kahit ikaw na 'yong nahihirapan, ayos lang kasi mahal mo? Gano'n ba 'yon? Lahat willing kang tanggapin kasi mahal mo? Kahit anong insulto mula sa mga kaibigan niya, ayos lang sa'yo kasi mahal mo?

Is it really wrong to have trust issues? I never experienced being loved fully. To be loved by someone without any boundaries, to be loved without asking for them to do it for me. Maling-mali ba ako kasi inisip ko sarili ko bago 'yong iba? Mali ba kasi mahal ko talaga 'yong tao kahit na hindi naman ako 'yong gusto? Kahit na hindi ako 'yong pinipili kasi hindi ako kapili-pili?

My last straw would be our picture together that he made as his profile picture as well as my picture that he posted on Instagram. Kapag nawala na 'yong mga 'yon, wala na talaga. He gave up on me.

If ever that he's already fed up, I'm willing to let him go. Let him chase his dreams, support him on everything. Kasi that's what he deserves. I want nothing but pure happiness for him. Kung saan siya masaya, sasaya na rin ako para sa kaniya.

3:16am

Still awake. I'm going to risk everything for him tomorrow. Hindi ko alam kung paano pero susugal ako mamayang gabi. Pupunta ako roon kahit walang kasiguraduhan kung lalabas siya o ano. Kung kakausapin niya ba ako o hindi. Ewan ko. Sana kausapin niya ako. Magdadala na rin akong extra na damit bukas just in case makituloy ako kung kanino. This love might kill me but it should be worth it. Let it be worth it. Please, give this chance to me. Kahit ito lang. Hindi ko na rin kasi talaga alam gagawin ko, e. Mababaliw na ako.

8:48am

I fell asleep at exactly 5am and I woke up earlier than my alarm. It's quite funny because this is the first time. Napanaginipan ko pa si Mako na sinasabing tama na raw at ayos na kami. Hindi naman pala totoo kasi nagising ako, e. That's another disappoinment to start my day. Walang-wala na akong will. Dati ginaganahan pa akong gumising sa umaga. Sobrang saya pa kapag gigising ako para makausap siya kahit na sandaling chat lang. Ngayon, wala talaga kahit isa.

I checked his IG account and he posted something, like a video of him playing guitar. Nagpost din siya ng myday niya saying, "Gonna get old, being hardheaded. I need to attend on yogas n shit."

Quite true. He's turning into someone na sobrang daling uminit ng ulo. Nakakatawang isipin na he can actually talk ill about me behind my back without thinking about what would I feel. Nakakatawang isipin na after all this time, after all the shits na nagawa niya, I still love him.

Kung magiging maayos kaya kaming dalawa, magiging mas maayos kaya kami o hindi na? Tatag ba kami o hindi na? Para sa akin, parang hindi na. May lamat na kasi. Wala na talaga. Hahahaha. Kung magkakaayos kami, parang babalikan na lang niya ako dahil sa awa. Habang ako? Mahal na mahal pa rin siya.

At least, I'm not trying to convince him to love me because I have suicidal tendencies. I've been suicidal for almost who knows how long. Tagal ko nang pinagdadaanan 'to sa sarili ko. Ang tagal ko nang sinusubukang isipin kung ano bang mali sa akin at bakit ganito ako.

Naalala ko sabi niya pa, bakit daw sobrang hilig kong magshare sa Facebook ng mga indirect shits para sa kaniya. Hindi naman 'yon para sa kaniya. Natawa lang ako kaya ko shinare. I find it really funny the reason why I shared it. May mali ba ro'n? Yes, nag-tweet ako noon tungkol sa kaniya pero 'yon 'yong time na hindi na kami nag-uusap. Ang tagal na no'n. Bakit daw sobrang hilig ko magshare, magscreenshot, mag-ewan. Hahahaha.

Okay, I'm gonna keep everything to me until I got used to it. Ibibigay ko pa rin 'yong pagmamahal na gusto niya, I'm gonna love him still. Pero kung ayaw niya na, mamahalin ko pa rin hanggang sa maubos paunti-unti. Hanggang sa maging okay na ako.

Sana kaya ko. Sana dumating 'yong araw na tatawanan ko na lang lahat nang 'to kasi ayon nga, ang tanga-tanga ko. Dahil lang sa lalaki nagkakaganito ka?

Sobrang bobo mo naman, Chezka.

I can't really trust his friends. They're like evil whispering to his ears, invading his mind, for him to do something bad. Sinong matinong tropa 'yong yayayain mo siya kung saan na alam mong may mga babae? Irereto mo sa iba? Alam mong dapat kami lang pero magsasama ka ng iba? Sinong matinong tropa 'yong kinukunsinte pa kamalian ng tropa nila?

It's his friends. Solid, 'no? Sobrang solid simula Junior high. Sobrang solid na mapapamura na lang ako kasi ang solid talaga nila. Putanginang solid nga talaga.

But yeah, he's not just a random guy to me. He's my everything right now. I can't lose him easily. Hindi ko siya pwedeng maiwala ngayon. I've worked hard fo earn him tapos ako rin dahilan bakit siya mawawala sa'kin? Tinanong ko siya kung mahal niya ako, hindi niya masagot. Ewan daw.

Ah, baka hindi na? Baka wala na talaga. Baka hindi na nga niya talaga ako mahal. Hindi naman niya siguro talaga ako mahal. Parang wala lang sa kaniya kahit magkaganito ako.

Baka nga hindi niya ako mahal talaga. Baka nasanay lang siya sa presensya ko, naging komportable lang siyang nandiyan ako, kaya akala niya mahal niya na ako.

That's possible and makes a lot of sense. Puta, ang sakit nga lang kung sakaling totoo. Kasi ako, mahal ko siya talaga, e. Tapos siya, mahal lang ako kasi komportable sa'kin. Hahahahahaha. Galing, no'n. Nakakabaliw lalo. Tangina, Mako! Nakakabaliw ka kamong mahalin.

[nicosroom]

Under the weather, part I:

Once upon a time, I caught a cold every semester, like clockwork. But a few years ago, I read that I should be taking zinc supplements which would not only help my immune system, but would also alleviate my adult acne-prone skin. Even though I remained cautious and paranoid, I noticed I wasn’t getting sick as often as I expected to and before I knew it, a full year had passed. That was my big accomplishment in 2015. 

In December of that year, I went on a four-week trip to the Philippines. I got off the plane at 11 pm local time, after not really sleeping on any of my 18 hour in flight. A couple hours later, I was informed that we’d be leaving at 5 am to swim with whale sharks in Oslob.* Excuse me? 20 hours later, after we swam with whale sharks, climbed a couple small mountains in flip flops, and rode a raft through a waterfall, I slept for 14 hours. I woke certain I’d have something horrible. A week, then two, then a third passed without health incident. 

The first week of January, and my last week in Cebu, we went all out. We started with a day trip to Tacloban, Leyte - a WWII historical tour arranged entirely for me. It was a whirlwind of a day that started at 5am, and we were back home just before midnight. I went straight to bed, even though my aunt warned me it was bad luck for me to go to bed without eating (we hadn’t had a proper dinner, but I did eat a few snacks on the ferry ride back to Cebu). I woke up with that ear-nose-throat thing that always means you’re sick. I went back to sleep hoping it might go away and I woke up lying myself into feeling all right. “The Secret” is all about believing in what you want. Mar and I went on a hike that evening, stopped for coconut water and bought cucumbers at a roadside stand and ate pickled cucumber salads with chicken adobo for dinner. Though the ear-nose-throat feeling was nagging at me the next morning, by the time I finished my tea and breakfast, I was convinced I was feeling normal. That night, Jes and I went to a swanky wine bar called the French baker. Then it was January 6. As a finale to my visit, and to celebrate Tita Betty’s birthday, we planned to hike up to Osmeña Peak - the highest point on Cebu - at sunset. 2 hour bus ride, followed by a 20 minute motorcycle ride up mountain, followed by a 20 minute hike to the peak, and we made it! 

Halfway down the mountain on the motorcycles and it started pouring rain. Soaking wet, we climbed onto our very air conditioned bus back to the city. We went to a mexipino restaurant for dinner upon arriving, where I opted for a coconut banana smoothie and devoured sizzling tuna belly for the last time. Then, Jes, a nurse, accidentally brushed my arm and, with much alarm, informed me that I had a fever. 24 hours later I was fast asleep on a red eye from Cebu to Seoul, a 14 hour flight from Seoul to JFK with a 5 hour layover before I landed in Cincinnati at 7 pm (eastern time) on January 8. 

A large pizza and a full night’s sleep had me feeling like I’d been hit by a bus, but I took my DayQuils and spent the whole day running around Cincy with Tony - lunch with a friend, shopping here, shopping there, leftover pizza for dinner, Bengals game. I was so relieved when Tony headed back to Baton Rouge on Sunday morning. Before heading home, though, fueled entirely by DayQuil, I stopped at Costco, Target, Jungle Jim’s, and Kroger. I dropped into bed that afternoon and spent the next three days recovering from my fever and my jet lag. For the rest of 2016, I managed to stay healthy, even if the fall allergy season was a little rough. 

Thanks for sticking with me through all that. But, here’s where it get interesting: here I am, almost exactly a full year later, down with a cold once more. Over the past few days, I’ve been reflecting on how I’ve handled being sick in my recent past and how I needed to approach things a bit differently this time around. 

Last January, I was partly motivated by wanting to soak up the last few days of my family vacation and spending the only day we had with my long distance boyfriend. But, really, that go-go-go attitude was pretty “normal” for any time I got sick. On a steady diet of DayQuil, hot tea, and ginger rice soup, I would slug through my encounters with a cold virus rigidly moving through my to-do list, teaching my classes, going to my seminars, and never missing a meeting. Only at my usual bedtime would I take my NyQuil and get to sleep, waking up everyday for a upwards of a week doing the same thing. Writing that out now...it all sounds incredibly abnormal, doesn’t it? I hope so, but probably not. As “How to Get Rid of a Cold in 24 Hours,” which someone on my Facebook feed shared today, attests, sprinting through our illnesses is totally normal in neoliberal America. This article definitely assumes that you don’t have time to be sick and that you aren’t skipping a day of work and it isn’t alarmed at all that your germy cold virus hands are all over the office water cooler. In my recent past, this article would have fit right into my philosophy and if I had seen it then, I would have a bottle of elderberry syrup in my medicine cabinet right now. The article claims that a cold can keep us down for as long as two weeks, if we let it. But, if we follow these easy steps, we could take care of it in just a day. I am no scientist, but I’m pretty sure suddenly eating an egg with hot tea for a day, if you usually eat cold cereal and drink coffee, isn’t going to help you kick your cold. I eat an (organic and pastured) egg for breakfast and drink hot tea almost every damn day.